


What it looks like

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Charity Auctions, Charity Gala, First Meetings, Flirting, Friendship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Omnics, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Undercover, Vishkar Corporation, hidden identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-06-09 23:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15278979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Doomfist/Zenyatta* There is a Charity Gala, and OverWatch sends an agent to cultivate some possible financial support.





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on and off on this fanfic for the past few months, entirely out of self indulgent desire to read a smut where akande knows who zenyatta is, while zenyatta does not. it evolved into something longer and with some plot so... enjoy? :)

**What it looks like**

  
**Chapter 01**

 

The party is full of people, and though Zenyatta does not feel quite part of it, he still mingles perfectly with the rest of the guests.

He is even wearing a proper suit, courtesy of Fareeha, Angela and Hana, who spent hours finding the perfect one for him. It fits his frame like a glove, and since he will not need them, he left his mala back at the base.

This is a charity gala, the kind that hosts many rich families, the kind that runs on quite a lot of money, and it is exactly why Zenyatta is here –to create contacts, and to re-establish a few ones he’s had during his travels as a wandering monk.

It is a job he accepted without trouble, and originally Jesse was supposed to be with him, but he got sick the day before their departure, and they both decided, following a particularly strong sneezing fit that lasted over a minute, that it would disrupt their mission.

So, Zenyatta went alone.

This is not quite a job for him, it is more akin to something he does so well it is engraved in his coding… charm others, talk with them, enchant them, and sometimes, forge connections to use in the future as well.

That does not mean the dance will be quick, or easy. The gala is meant to last six days, and he’s only been there for three, with only two nights spent around other guests so far; the first night he hovers quietly around, observing the other guests, mingling a bit without throwing himself into it, but the second he starts to approach a few of them, testing the waters. It will be good for OverWatch, if he manages to find people willing to donate their money to the organization, and Zenyatta hopes he will not fail.

He finds many interesting people at the gala, and most of them are receptive, if somewhat easily fooled, moving where the wind takes them without true beliefs to anchor them down, but Zenyatta… can work with that.

Humans, omnics… sometimes all they need is to feel part of something, even if only in name.

The third night starts mostly like the first two, though Zenyatta catches more people sending him speculative, appreciative stares, fellow guests he spoke with during the previous nights remembering him and some even waving at him in greeting… and then…

He feels eyes on himself, and following the gaze, he meets a pair of dark eyes from the other side of the crowded room, from a man taller than most other guests.

Tall, yes, and built more like a fighter than like a man of success, but his stance speaks of repressed power and raw determination, the kind Zenyatta likens to a predator; the way he walks across the hall strengthens Zenyatta’s impression, and as he moves closer, Zenyatta’s optical receptors are caught by the way his muscles bulge under the fine, white silk of his suit.

He seemed like an impressive man, and somehow, Zenyatta had attracted his attention; minutes after their gazes meet, the man approaches him, pace even and eyes never straying.

 “Akande Ogundimu,” he offers as a greeting, one big hand held open for Zenyatta to shake.

“Tekhartha Zenyatta,” he answers, and reaches out to hold on Akande’s hand, surprise jolting his servos when instead of shaking his hand, Akande cradles it in one of his bigger ones and brings it to his face, lips meeting metal for a brief kiss.

“Tekhartha?” Akande murmurs, rolls the ‘r’ sound of Zenyatta’s name like a fine wine, and sends a shiver down his back. “That is quite the important title you share. So you belong to the Shambali?”

Akande lets his hand go, his words even more surprising than his action.  “It is rare to find someone who recognizes that as a title, and not a name.”

“Is that so?” Akande’s eyes narrow, a sharp gaze that makes Zenyatta feel like the sole focus of his interest. “I admit, I had not expected to see a member of the Shambali at this charity. They have not made an appearance in almost a year, not since… ah. Forgive me for my impertinence.”

Zenyatta offers a small nod. He understands perfectly what Akande is referring to. “Unfortunately that is true –my brothers and sisters are… grieving in their own way.”

The Shambali have not left the monastery since Mondatta’s death, and even that had been Mondatta’s first outing in months. The ones who remain are lost, and careful, and wary.

Akande’s eyes sharpen. “… meanwhile you…”

“I do not align with their current isolation approach,” Zenyatta ignores the polite inquiry, as Mondatta’s death feels sharp and painful even now, so many months after the fact, but he will not explain his grief to a stranger, no matter who. “Which is why I am here, and they are… not.”

Zenyatta left the Shambali’s monastery to travel, taking Genji with him, and now he is part of OverWatch, but… his title is still his own, and though separated from his fellow monks, he is still one of them. He might not agree with the way they conduct things, but he is still protective of them, even now.

For as long as he is called Tekhartha, he will still be with them, even if in name only.

Zenyatta does not need to feel Akande’s aura to know he is intrigued, somehow. Zenyatta’s words interest him, or perhaps his attitude, or it is simply his allegiance with the Shambali yet his clear distancing himself from them. It is no trouble for him to indulge the man… after all, he is here for this reason, and if he finds pleasant company, he will not deny himself that.

***

As Zenyatta realises quite quickly, Akande is more than simply pleasant company.

The man is certainly driven, but he is not lacking in the conversation department, and conversing with him is fascinating for Zenyatta as well, albeit tricky, in a way.

Akande… is curious, and more than once Zenyatta finds himself mentioning more than he should, more than he’d initially intended to, captivated by Akande’s eyes, and his mannerisms, and the way he holds himself, and… well, he would lie if he said he did not like Akande’s stance and his… physical presence.

It is easy to talk with him, so easy that time passes by quickly, the night at the gala wrapping up, and Zenyatta finds himself surprised when the organizers make another public speech to announce the night’s donation amount tally, which signals the event has ended for the day.

He also finds himself surprised when he looks around and discovers Akande and himself have moved to a secluded corner, few people around them and none close enough to hear them.

The thought makes him pause, fans spinning just a little faster, suddenly far too aware of how close Akande has gotten to him, his attention never wavering.

The sudden realisation that maybe his attraction is not entirely unwarranted, nor one-sided, is shocking and thrilling at the same time.

Zenyatta clears his synth. “It appears the night has ended,” he murmurs, his voice a fraction softer than he meant to sound. “I… barely realised. The conversation was quite riveting.”

Akande leans forwards, just a bit, and Zenyatta tilts his head up. He feels similarly dwarfed whenever Reinhardt looms over him, but this is different –Akande has nothing of Reinhardt’s loud countenance, he’s not boisterous or laughing… he is quiet, focused and silent, and Zenyatta shivers again.

“The same can be said for me, but… the night does not have to end like this,” Akande offers, the tilt of his lips making him look smug. “If you like, we could continue this… elsewhere.”

Zenyatta falters.

He understands what the offer implies, and is tempted –sorely tempted.

It has been a while since he’s found someone as interesting, as fascinating as this man is, and even longer when one has attracted his attention in ways that make him wish to _indulge_. The temptation is strong, his desire also is, but he already spent so much time with this one man, forgetting himself and his mission, and that is not good.

He is not here for this, even if no one else would know of this, no one would _need_ to know; the night has ended, and until the next day he can rest or do whatever he wanted – _whoever_ he wanted–  and resume his duty during the following night, but…

But.

He is on a mission, and has his second report to make.

Yet the temptation gives him pause, and the tilt of Akande’s lips makes that pause longer.

“… I think I have offered you more than enough attention for the day,” he murmurs then, the twinge of disappointment carefully hidden from his tone. “But I do require some rest.”

“… then perhaps, you would not mind if I stole your attention tomorrow…? Unless you do not plan to stay for the rest of the gala.” Akande does not seem displeased, but the focus in his eyes hasn’t changed.

He is a man who does not like to be denied, and for some reason, Zenyatta has caught his full attention.

The thought makes him almost quiver, surprised by his own desire.

“I will stay until the last night. We will have quite enough time to see one another, then,” he accepts, easily, so easily.

It is no hardship to spend time around Akande, and Zenyatta finds himself enraptured already.

He wonders if he would have felt the same, had Jesse joined him, or if Jesse’s presence would have had him resist, if simply not to parade his desires so openly for others to see.

Or maybe, knowing Jesse, he might have pushed Zenyatta directly into Akande’s arms… the thought makes him want to laugh.

“I would love to know your room number then,” Akande tries again, and Zenyatta does laugh then, the sound startled out of his synth.

“What a daring attempt,” he says, playful. “Should I fear your uninvited company at any given time, if I do?”

Akande’s chuckle rumbles through his chest, pleasant to the ear. “Uninvited as it might be, unwanted it is not.”

“You make quite the assumption.”

“Yet… am I wrong?”

One of Akande’s hands travels to caress the edge of Zenyatta’s mouth piece, lingers there, then moves away, and Zenyatta cannot help but follow it, even as he chastises himself for appearing so taken, so…

 _Thirsty_ , Jesse would say.

“No,” he admits, almost too softly. “That is why I will not tell you. Goodnight, Akande. It was… a true pleasure, meeting you tonight.”

“The same can be said for you… Zenyatta.” Again that smirk, the one that makes Zenyatta want to give himself away on a silver platter, the kind that makes him secure that he would be devoured like a gourmet morsel. “I had not expected to find such a treat, on my first night here.”

He leaves Akande behind with a lingering regret, and feels his eyes follow him as he exits the hall.

***

Zenyatta feels oddly naked and cold as he takes the elevator to his room, compared to the heat he feels in his core, fans spinning, mind lingering on Akande’s words, on his suggestion, on the hints of what, exactly, could have happened if he’d accepted his offer.

His modesty panel burns, and the moment Zenyatta is back in the quiet, lonely safety of his room, far too rich for a lone omnic, he depressurizes, steam coming out of his shoulders and back in a soft hiss.

It still does not help, not when the curve of his mouth place tingles where Akande touched it, not when it is so easy to fantasize about those fingers trailing down his frame, lower and lower–

Oh, Zenyatta _feels_ the heat, and does not deny himself the thoughts, because for how rare it is, he is not celibate, nor disinterested.

He undresses slowly, unwilling to stay in clothes that feel constrictive on him for too long, and puts on his old pants, the room temperature good on his heated chassis.

The idea of taking care of himself is tempting, let thoughts of that man steal his attention even when he is alone, but he has a report to make, and that’s more important.

He connects quickly, safe ports leading his tablet to encrypted gateways, and soon enough, he sees the familiar faces of Winston, Genji and Lena appear on the screen.

“Ah, Zenyatta!”

“Oi, Zen!”

“Master!”

They speak all over each other, excited to see him again, and he chuckles, at ease now, the heat receding from his body quickly, replaced with fondness.

“So far, the mission is proceeding as expected,” he reports, duty first, always. He lists off some of the contributors he’s noticed earlier during the first day, and then mentions some names OverWatch had already linked to Talon operatives, making sure to be as detailed as possible. “I have found a few possible supporters as well,” he reassures Winston at the end, aware of the flicker of disappointment he sees in his face, carefully masked by him fumbling with his glasses. “It will not be difficult to entice them to shift to back us instead.”

“Sounds difficult,” Lena admits, and even she looks worried. “We’re good but we don’t sound… well, all that _good_.”

Zenyatta hums, amused. “Oh, the picture OverWatch paints is rather alluring, I assure you. We are but a small group, attempting to restore the organization’s reputation, only doing what’s best for the world with all its corruption and disrepair. There are a lot of people attracted to the underdogs, Lena, and a good number of them wishes to support without being under fire, either. They like the idea of aiding someone, but not the risks… it tickles their subdued ideals, makes them feel part of something positive, if only through their money. It is a game for them, nothing they truly recognize as real, but it is one they wish to play, as long as they are properly courted into it.”

Lena’s mouth makes a small ‘o’ in surprise, eyes wide, and nods in understanding, even as Winston levels him with a look that Zenyatta cannot truly parse.

“You do know what you are doing,” Winston mutters, and there’s something there, resembles respect, but not quite.

Zenyatta can understand it –Winston thought he would be good as a façade, with Jesse’s skills coming through to fill in the blanks, and sending Zenyatta alone felt like a gamble as he had no idea if Zenyatta could do it by himself. This is a reassurance, lets Winston know that Jesse is not the only one who can play this game.

It is one Zenyatta had to learn early on, though he does not fancy playing it often… yet, this is for the good of OverWatch. It _is_ small, and desperately needs this support.

Genji leans forwards, offering him a thumbs up, approval evident in the set of his shoulders, and Zenyatta smiles through his forehead array, though he can also sense that Genji is still worried.

“What troubles you, Genji?”

He sees him deflate, just a fraction. “Nothing, master. I am merely tense about this mission that has you over there alone. I know you are more than capable of dealing with… everything, but… I can’t help but worry. Talon is dangerous. I should have tagged along, if only for company.”

“You do not need to worry so, my student.” Zenyatta wishes he could send Genji an orb, but the distance makes it impossible. He has to settle for comforting words. “It is a gala, and it is severely restricted and controlled. Nothing will happen, or it would be bad press, for everyone involved. I miss your presence at my side, but this was necessary. Please do send my regards to Jesse either way. I hope he feels better soon.”

Somewhere out of view, he hears shuffling, then someone blows their nose –rather loudly. “Oh, is he there?”

“Felt miserable cooped up in his bedroom all day, so he had to come and make sure we were miserable ourselves,” Genji says, teasing, and the loud blowing nose noise returns with vengeance before Genji’s head is pushed away by a familiar hand, and with a small scuffle, Lena muffling laughter behind both hands and Winston crinkling his face in amusement, Jesse replaces Genji on his screen.

“Don’t let them say anything bad ‘bout me, Zen,” Jesse mutters. He does not look all that good, cheeks flushed and nose red, but he looks better than when Zenyatta left. “How ya hangin’?”

“As it seems, better than you, Jesse.”

“This? Nah, had it worse. This is nothing.” To punctuate his words, Jesse blows his nose in Genji’s general direction, gathering a loud ‘Jesse that’s disgusting’ from him off-screen. “Have fun while you’re there, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! But! That also means, do everything I _would_ do, Zen!”

“That means ‘flirt with every hot person you see and get their number, don’t disappoint me, man!’, that’s what he always does –got in trouble so much, too,” Lena helpfully supplies, and winks at Zenyatta.

He is perfectly aware it’s meant as a joke, and neither of them expects something of this sort from him, and yet… he thinks about Akande, and his forehead array flashes in embarrassment.

“… _oh–ho~_ ” Lena and Jesse both lean closer to the screen, though Lena appears mystified, and Jesse just… leers. “No waay!” Lena pushes Jesse away, and Zenyatta watches as he fumbles out of sight for a moment. “Zenyatta, you sly dog! Did you really channel your inner Jesse? Who was it? Some charming rich–”

Zenyatta’s fans kick in, embarrassment making him warm up under their attention, and he shakes his head slowly.

“Nothing of that sort, please. There was just…” he fumbles with himself, unfamiliar with this friendly level of teasing,  and still keyed up by Akande’s presence. “… someone rather interesting, but that was all. Nothing other than small talk, I assure you.”

“Zenny my respect for you just went up a notch!” sounding enthused, Lena offers him a thumbs up before getting dragged out of the way, and Genji’s masked face reappears as she splutters loudly.

“Master, are you–”

“I feel–” Winston’s voice speaks easily over Genji, drowning his words out, “that this is not, uh, any of your business. Or mine, either. And as long as you do your job, Zenyatta, you can… flirt…” a pinched look “… with anyone you wish, but… I mean, don’t… get hurt?”

“Yeah, unless that’s what he wan–” Jesse tries to speak, but a sneezing fit interrupts him, and Zenyatta covers his face plate with one hand, embarrassed yet at the same time weirdly amused by his friends’ banter.

“If it is alright, I wish to end this call and get some rest. I still have a few days to spend here,” though his voice even, Zenyatta is aware that they can sense his embarrassment, and Lena’s hand reappears from the side to give him an ‘ok’ sign.

“Forgive these poor excuses for agents, Zenyatta, they like their gossip more than they should,” Winston tells him, but he quirks a small smile his way, both to show he’s alright with their jokes and to make sure Zenyatta is aware that he also does not mind him relaxing, when he’s not on the mission. “Call back tomorrow if you have news, otherwise we’ll talk in two days.”

“Thank you, Winston. I will. Genji, Lena –have a pleasant evening,” Genji seems to want to say something else, then reconsiders, shoulders slumping a little. “Jesse, go back to bed, you need your rest as well.”

When the call ends, the room is silent, and Zenyatta misses the noise, and the company, but he also feels high-strung, tense both for his mission and for his meeting with Akande.

It is a weird mix, and Zenyatta considers a short meditation session before he powers down to rest, but as he moves to the bed to sit down, someone knocks at his door.

“Room service,” someone says from outside.

Zenyatta moves to open the door, revealing a human in the hotel’s attire with a tray, a bottle and a single glass flute.

“You must have the wrong room,” Zenyatta tells him, puzzled. “I did not order anything, nor do I need anything.”

“This was sent with the compliments of Mister Akande Ogundimu,” the steward states, polite and monotone, offering the tray to him with a flourish, and Zenyatta is startled enough that he lets him in.

The steward walks in briskly, but true to his role, he does not pause nor does he look around, simply setting the tray down near the bed and then bowing to Zenyatta. “Please enjoy, and call the front office if you need anything.”

Zenyatta watches him leave before he returns his attention to the bottle. He is not surprised to see it is a brand of oil specifically for omnic consumption, and it’s a rather expensive selection, one Zenyatta himself has never tasted.

He rarely indulges, just as he rarely uses his intake chamber, preferring others to believe his is a model that does not allow for an open ‘mouth’, but here, alone in his room, he hesitates, extends one hand, and opens the bottle to smell the contents.

It is… heady, alluring to omnic senses the way a good liquor would be for humans, thick and viscous, and Zenyatta slowly tips two inches of it in the flute, watching it for a few long seconds before giving in to the temptation, parting his mouth piece just enough to take a sip, shivering as the liquid rolls down his intake chamber, making sensors he’s almost forgotten flare up at the taste.

It is delicious.

Zenyatta feels it rush down his circuits, mimicking the rush of heat of alcohol, and thinks –about Akande, about this gift, about his offer, mind caught on a possibility that makes him shiver.

He takes another sip, relishing the taste, then moves to the bed to meditate.

***

The week of gala is a charity event. During the day, the attendees are free to do as they please, and then they reconvene in the lobby of the hotel in the early evening, and from there, to the halls and areas of the hotel where the gala is held.

For the duration of the gala, the charity offers light entertainment and good food, served in buffets with a clear division between human guests and omnic ones, so not to taint the food with the specific things omnics can ingest, and some soft, nice music is a constant background.

There are events planned over the course of the week, mostly involving previous donations or charity bingos, while for the rest of the evening guests are free to make public donations to one of the various causes sponsored at the gala, or even set up anonymous donations through sealed envelopes, converse with one another, and have fun. During the course of the evenings, the donations are tallied up, and the result is announced before the night ends.

Every day a new charity is picked for special donations, and it is overall a rather big, posh setup.

It is perfect for mingling and creating connections, which is why Zenyatta is there, and which is why he is perfectly aware that somewhere among the guests, Talon also has infiltrates.

Zenyatta has been part of OverWatch for only a few months, and has only seen the files of a few known members of Talon, and of those, they were only able to put a name next to a face of three of them, minor members with no real importance.

They know someone named Reaper is part of it, but the man wears a mask, and is as slippery as he is deathly.

As Zenyatta leaves the hotel lobby in the morning, he has no idea what to do with his day. Stay inside until the gala starts feels like a waste, but he cannot do much of his intel work unless he actually approaches people he feels might be interested, and most of them have busy days, outside of the gala.

So many people live their lives without knowing what goes on underneath the surface, and of those who do get involved, very few truly know how deep their connections tie them.

It is all money, and the rush for a danger that isn’t real danger –it is all a perceived, calculated risk.

Yet, in this kind of world, Talon thrives.

“Good morning.”

Startled out of his thoughts, Zenyatta turns around.

Akande is dressed down, this morning –simpler clothes yet just as impeccably fitting his frame as the suit from the previous night was. He looks just as delectable, as well, and Zenyatta’s core stutters.

How can such a man exist where Zenyatta can talk to him, and how has he taken such a keen interest in him, of all omnics, of all people, to wish to find him even after being rebuked for a night together?

Such man is standing in front of him, with a pleased smirk, and Zenyatta finds himself further intrigued.

“I received your… gift, last night,” he finds himself saying, even as Akande looks up and down his body, in a way that makes him feel naked, even if he is wearing one of the outfits Hana selected for him to bring. “You found my room number.”

“I am… a determined man, when I am in pursuit of something I find interesting,” Akande murmurs, and Zenyatta hums.

“And I am such a thing?”

“You are, unless you do not wish to be. If I have overstepped, allow me to apologize, but you did seem… open to my advances, last night. I did not visit, as that would have been intruding upon your privacy, but I still wished for you to think about me, and a token of my appreciation sounded like the right approach.”

“You did not need to go to such lengths, as you have not quite left my mind.” Zenyatta is startled by his own admission, and a flicker of surprise is mirrored on Akande’s face, though it is quickly washed away by a pleased, knowing smirk.

“Is that so, Zenyatta?”

He takes a step back, more for his own peace of mind, because Akande’s look is almost too much, the kind of attention that is far too focused, almost daunting.

“Forgive me for teasing,” Akande takes his retreat with respect, his shoulders dropping a little, and then offers him his arm. “I would be glad to have you accompany me today, before the gala. I found your company pleasant, and I would like a repeat. Nothing needs to happen that you do not wish to.”

Zenyatta considers his plans for the day, the fact that he has none, and that spending it with Akande would be a self-indulgent thing for him.

He truly finds no reason to refuse.

“I do not have much planned for today,” he admits, and while hesitant, he reaches out for the offered arm. “Though I must say, I am not quite used to so much attention.”

Sharp eyes never leave him. “I do not know how that is possible, when at that gala, you so easily stole all of mine. All those people dance to a tune created by others, exist merely for the sake of appearances, an orchestrated, fake performance. Many do not truly care, and display their boredom like one would with a painting –like it is something to envy. Very few seem in touch with the way the world ticks, Zenyatta.”

Akande moves towards the street, and a black car stops in front of them, a chauffeur rushing to open the back door for them to climb on it. Zenyatta hums as he sits in front of Akande in the car.

“It is easy to see, yes,” he acknowledges, because there is no lie in Akande’s words, yet he feels it too harsh. “That is because they have not had a taste of the world, and very few even wish to. I cannot hold it against them, when the world itself gives them no reason to. Many of them had no other life, and no one to show them a different path.”

“You think they would, even when given the chance? All they would offer is money, for the thrill of a false belief –that they matter, and that something belonging to them has helped change the world. Yes, their money, their contributions… mean something, but it is in the hands of those who know what to do with it, and once it’s out of their hands, they are left with nothing but empty words.”

Zenyatta does not find it weird for the conversation to fall on such subjects. He is part of the Shambali, and it is not the first time this has brought him many who wished to test his allegiances, and his beliefs… and yet, Akande gives him a different impression.

He is a man with his own beliefs, as rooted and strong as Zenyatta’s ones are, and it is fascinating to continue their talk like this.

He has no trouble indulging him. Akande is… intriguing.

“It is true that many will stop there, and yet… you are aware of who the Shambali are. We believe in equality, and we seek to have others open their hearts to it as well. Many have never had to challenge their views, and if no roads were ever open, if no direction was offered for them to explore… how could they have the chance to? It is a personal decision, yes, but if there are no choices, no different paths, then there is no freedom.”

Akande chuckles, soft and warm, and the curl of his lips shows how pleased he is.

“You must forgive me, I realise it is not quite the right conversation for a date. I hope you will still be able to enjoy the day with me.”

As the car jolts and moves down the road, Zenyatta realises with a start that Akande has just called this a date, the same smirk still on his lips.

***

Stumbling back into his room, Zenyatta allows the door to close behind his back, fans spinning loudly enough that they are audible in the silence of the room.

The day passed quickly, perhaps far too much so, and pleasantly as well.

Akande brought him around on a tour, as knowledgeable about the city as he seems to be about everything, one hand always touching Zenyatta’s body, looking at him so often Zenyatta felt on fire during most of the day.

He still feels like he’s burning, Akande’s gaze following him even as he left him behind to have some time to get ready before the new evening of the gala starts.

So much time, and yet Zenyatta feels like spending more of it with him, but he cannot.

He has a job to do, other people to talk with, no matter the kind of siren’s call Akande is for him.

The ideal setup would be to avoid him, and Zenyatta is rather sure he can keep his personal interests away from his professional ones, at least enough to progress further on his mission.

That he keeps thinking about Akande’s eyes, his hands, his voice, does not help him any.

A call startles him as he’s halfway dressed, and he accepts it as he slowly puts on his shirt and jacket.

“Zenyatta!” it is Jesse, much to his surprise. He’d expected Winston to call, perhaps. “Just wanted to know if you’ve banged your hot stranger yet–”

Zenyatta stutters, fumbles with his jacket and it slides out of his hand and onto the floor. He tilts his head to stare at the tablet, hoping to convey without an expression what he’s feeling at the moment, and Jesse snorts, one big tissue covering his smirk.

“Listen, it’s not that often I get to tease you like that,” he says, open and amused, and Zenyatta sighs. “I gotta milk it for all its worth!”

“Jesse, I…” Zenyatta pauses, his forehead array flickering. “Is that the bathroom…? Jesse, are you hiding?”

Jesse waves one hand to dismiss his worries. “Nah, just had to take a leak–”

“… _Jesse._ ”

“Yes, was told I shouldn’t call you to bother you if all I wanted to know was details about your private life but–” Jesse makes an exaggerated motion with both arms, and Zenyatta finds himself laughing.

He is still embarrassed, but he enjoys this level of closeness with Jesse, one he feels he has not reached with any of the others, yet.

If it has to do with their common skills, or simply because Jesse is truly easy to get along with, he has no idea, but he is glad Jesse is his friend, even if it shows with him being far too curious about Zenyatta’s sexual life… or lack thereof.

“You should stop living by proxy and find yourself someone to flirt with, Jesse,” he answers, his tone just as teasing, and Jesse shrugs.

“Ain’t no chance when you’re sick as fuck and sneezing all over your friends, right? Here I thought I’d have some good chances to flirt on that mission but you’re the one reapin’ all the benefits… it’s unfair!”

Zenyatta laughs and waits as Jesse blows his nose –quietly. He is truly hiding, and Zenyatta finds it both endearing and quite silly. “Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, Jesse?”

“Ah, I… yeah, I just wanted to, y’know, make sure you were holding up alright. Not that I don’t trust you, Zen, but isn’t this your first solo mission? I just…” he fumbles with himself, coughs, and sniffles hard on his runny nose. “Wanted to make sure things were okay.”

Touched by his worry, Zenyatta nods. “I am, thank you. I was a bit apprehensive at first, I admit, but there is nothing dangerous happening, and if Talon is here, I have no real way to find out. I am being patient, though, so you do not have to worry.”

“Thanks god for that, really. Still sorry for abandoning you like that, Zen. I’ll make it up to you when we go get drinks next time. It’s on me!”

“Jesse, we never went out for drinks–”

“– _yet_. Offer’s open, darlin’.”

Zenyatta laughs again, entertained and endeared by Jesse’s worry and his offer for companionship.

“But… Zen, listen.” And now, Jesse’s tone turns more serious, sharper. “You are not… doing this… thing, this flirt… just for…”

Zenyatta hums. “No.”

“Okay, okay, I just… y’know, you don’t have to do… I mean, it’s…” he looks as awkward as he sounds, but Zenyatta understands, and it warms him. He is glad he has such good friends in OverWatch. “Just makin’ sure you don’t give more than you should to the cause, that’s all. I know how that goes.”

Zenyatta wishes they were talking face to face, so he could reach out for Jesse, both as a reassurance and as a thank you, but he cannot, so he inclines his head, and hopes Jesse will understand by his voice alone that he _understands_.

“Thank you, for worrying about me.”

The call ends quickly after that, as Zenyatta finishes dressing up to leave for the gala.

He has a lot of work to do, and one dangerously enticing man to avoid.

***

It is incredibly difficult.

Akande was born to be resilient, and the way he scours the area, seeking Zenyatta’s familiar face plate, is at the same time worrisome and endearing.

Zenyatta feels touched by Akande’s interest, and being pursued by such a man is… well. It feels good. There have been very few who looked at Zenyatta in his lifetime and found him appealing, let alone worth courting, and the way Akande treats him makes Zenyatta feel wanted in a way he has never experienced before.

It is almost an addictive feeling, and the fact that Akande is also more than just pleasant to be around, and smart, and worth spending time with only makes things harder.

He knows this cannot last –that he will leave, and Akande will forget about him, that this is a mere moment of fun that will soon end, and yet…

And yet, Zenyatta is enamoured, and enraptured, and wishes to spend more time with Akande.

But he cannot.

He has a job.

Thankfully, he is also rather good at avoiding unwanted attention, even when it is very much wanted, and Akande’s eyes rack through the sea of guests at the gala, but do not find him.

Unfortunately, in his attempts to hide from him, Zenyatta finds himself paying little attention to where he’s going, and as a result, he turns a corner and slams into someone.

The sudden, unexpected encounter sends him on the ground, and something wet hits him in the chest, seeping into his suit and tie, his sensors registering the heavy smell of the alcoholic punch he’s seen earlier at one of the buffets.

“Oh shi– I mean, I’m _so_ sorry!” someone is standing above him, and Zenyatta looks up.

The lights in front of him make the silhouette of the person he’s bumped into stand out, but he cannot see their face, only that they are short, and sturdy, and extremely sorry, because they repeat their apologies twice more as they help Zenyatta stand, and as he somehow towers over them, it makes them pause enough to whistle in surprise.

“You’re one tall fellow, huh?”

And then, Zenyatta finally sees their face and…

It is Lúcio Correia dos Santos.

Zenyatta is… a bit of a fan, really. The respect he has for this man and his hardships, and how he managed to bring positive change to others through his actions and his music, are incredibly inspiring.

He was not expecting to find him at this charity gala.

“Ah, forgive me for bumping into you,” Zenyatta shakes his head. “I was not looking where I was going.”

“Nah man, it was my fault, I got your suit all dirty–” and much to Zenyatta’s utter surprise, Lúcio shuffles out of his jacket and hands it to him. “You can have this. The night’s still young, and I don’t think that stain is going to get out with just some water. Heh. Sorry about that.”

Zenyatta smiles, at ease already with Lúcio’s easy going personality, and accepts the offer, sliding the jacket up his shoulders. It is bigger on him than it was on Lúcio, but it hides the stain rather well.

“I will wash this and return it to you tomorrow,” he promises, then pauses to consider. “Is there a coin laundry anywhere in this area? I am not quite familiar.”

This startles a laugh out of Lúcio, who smiles widely at him. “Are you for real? It’s alright, it’s just a jacket and hey, I wasn’t looking where I was going too. I was… well. There’s some people here I didn’t want to meet.”

His voice sounds sour, just a little, and Zenyatta realises with a start that he is probably avoiding the Vishkar group Zenyatta has noticed earlier near the buffet.

“Perhaps you might wish to avoid the buffet near the fountain for a while, then,” he suggests mildly, and Lúcio’s eyes flash with gratitude.

“Ah, thank you! Sorry, I did not introduce myself. Name’s Lúcio!”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickers in amusement. “That is quite alright. I do know you –I rather enjoy your music.” Lúcio smiles again, wider and more sincere. “My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta. It is a pleasure.”

“Tekhartha…? Oh man, you’re part of the Shambali?” a flicker of understanding passes on Lúcio’s face, and he seems to brighten up. “It’s an honour to meet you, and I’m glad to find you here!”

Zenyatta finds himself surprised again, this time by Lúcio’s insight about his title. “Thank you, though unfortunately I am not here officially for the Shambali order.”

Lúcio nods, his lips settling on a thoughtful tilt. “Things have been pretty hard since Master Mondatta’s passing, huh?” realising what he’s just said, his eyes widen. “Oh man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Please–” Zenyatta raises both hands, halting him. “No need to be proper. Yes, things have been difficult. My brothers and sisters were left without a leader, and have found the idea of leaving the monastery incredibly hard, while I thought the only way to continue our work was to leave. I hope that in the future, they will come around and return to their work outside.”

“Yeah, it would be bad if they let something like this stop them. I know how that goes, not a pretty future.”

Zenyatta hums softly in agreement.

“So, you here seeking some help?” Lúcio narrows his eyes, but there is nothing unkind in his tone. “If you aren’t part of the Shambali, it means you do not have all the connections you used to have. Are you a travelling monk?”

“Something like that, yes. Your insight is rather sharp, isn’t it?”

Lúcio’s smile turns a bit mischievous. “It’s a gift.”

“I am here to… test the waters, so to speak. I have spent a while travelling with my student, but it seems I have found a place to stay, at least for now.”

“Was it… hard?” Lúcio leans against one of the columns, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

Zenyatta hesitates. He understands what Lúcio is saying, but the answer is not an easy one. “It was difficult to leave. I… left before my mentor died, so I thought my absence would not bring discomfort to the monastery, and afterwards… I did not feel it was my place to return, not yet. And now, the idea of going back is not as important, even though I still think about it. Yet… I can do so much more than what I could from within the monastery.”

Lúcio’s eyes widen for a moment, realises the implications of Zenyatta talking about his mentor’s death and what it means, and lowers his head, offering his grief with a short, curt nod.

“I get that,” he says, right after, sounding almost intense. The look in his eyes is sharp, a touch wild. “I’ve been asked to do a lot of things, since I’ve become a famous musician. People need support, and what’s better than someone in the spotlight to give them some?”

There is Discord around him, and Zenyatta can sense it without even trying. He understands Lúcio’s place, what he’s saying, and his frustration. It’s so clear he would not need his heightened sensibility to read that.

“Yet… it is not enough for you, is it not?” he delivers this quietly, but steadily. He feels something that they share, it is a connection, and not like the ones he hopes to make with possible supporters at the gala. “You feel your money offered to someone is good, but not enough. You wish to do more, and do it yourself. You did it once, and know it works better, but you are uncertain about how to go with it now because it is no more just about you, or your people. There is more around you, and you do not know your place.”

“Man, and you say I’ve got a gift? You nailed it right on the head.” Lúcio chuckles, the sound almost weak, though his lips are curled upwards, and there is no animosity in his tone. “I’m not resigned. I admit, I came here hoping to find something worth getting involved into. I don’t have many contacts either, because most of them expect a one-sided deal, and I’m not into that. I’m a musician, and I am _more_. I know what it means to be looked down at. I don’t want that to happen to someone else, but…”

“But this place is not the right place. You feel like you don’t belong here. This place is for money, and you wish for action and involvement.”

“Yeah man, you got it right.” The smile turns a bit more secure. “I’ve had some people come at me and ask for support, and I’ve always thought all they needed was money, not… Lúcio.” He chuckled. “Damn, is it that bad that I want to do things I could be proud of?”

“I feel you’re doing that already with your music. It brings solace and comfort to many, resonates through them where nothing else can.” Zenyatta looks at Lúcio, forehead array bright. “But I understand the desire to do more. It is what inspired me to leave, as well. I felt I needed to get more involved. Stagnating in a single place was not my calling.”

Lúcio straightens his back. “My music is me. All I am I put into my music, and hope it can help someone like it helped me, so your words truly mean a lot to me, but… yes. I want to do more than that. Not be here and watch a bunch of people race on who donates the most. I want to be… on the field. Do things.”

Zenyatta thinks about Akande’s words, about people wishing they could do more, but not having the means to, and feels his core lighten. “I am sure the opportunity will come to you, if you are open to it.”

Something in Lúcio’s stance shifts, his eyes moving away from Zenyatta to the ground. He looks deep in thought. “You know what? I think it already did.”

***

Talking with Lúcio, as it happens, is just as easy as talking with Akande.

Lúcio is an interesting person, and his soul feel like a burst of energy ready to take off, and Zenyatta can’t help but wish to be his friend, relishing this spark of connection that their conversation created.

It is also easy to forget about things when talking with him, and he spends the rest of the evening chatting with Lúcio and by the end of it, he even receives a few recommendations about which people to approach, and he is quite grateful about that as the two part ways.

He does not think he’ll see Lúcio again, he does not seem like he wishes to stick around, but he is rather pleased when before they separate, Lúcio offers him his mail address, and Zenyatta promises he’ll contact him for his jacket, which is still wrapped around his shoulders.

It does not quite work with the rest of his suit, but he is grateful for it, even now that the alcohol has dried out, though his sensors can still smell it on him.

With the night wrapped up, and Zenyatta feeling pleasantly content, he turns to leave only to bump into Akande’s chest, and is suddenly reminded that he had meant to stay away from him all along.

Well.

“I see you have been… busy, Zenyatta.”

There is no reproach in his tone, not that he’d have any reason to be, but there is something there in the way his shoulders are set and in the way his eyes move to the jacket wrapped around Zenyatta’s frame, that show he is not at ease either.

Zenyatta wonders, though he feels it can’t be _that_ , but maybe…

“I spent a pleasant evening tonight, yes,” he says, and is surprised at his own words, and what he means. He is prodding Akande for a reaction that shouldn’t even be there. He… “Lúcio is quite the good company.”

 _There_ –he sees it.

The twitch of Akande’s shoulders, the way they hitch up, just a fraction, and he seems… perturbed, his eyes narrowing.

“Though,” he adds, slow and even, and even pauses for a few seconds, turning away from Akande to stare at the crowd around them as they slowly trickle away, “he does not seem to command the same kind of attention as you.”

He watches, at the edge of his vision, Akande freeze, then a chuckle rumbles in his chest, deep and pleased. “Oh, is that so?”

“Indeed. But you know, I am here for other reasons than just spend time around you.”

“Unacceptable.” Akande leans forwards, pushes into Zenyatta’s personal space, and Zenyatta turns fully towards him. “I should be the sole occupation of your thoughts.”

“How presumptuous of you.” Zenyatta feels the heat coming from Akande’s body, his sensors almost tingling with his close presence, and realises…

He’s missed him, even if he’s only been away from him for a mere day. It should be rather stupid, but Akande’s presence is intoxicating, and Zenyatta has been smitten since the start. He wonders how far he can push this game, if Akande will get bored, and pursue someone else. He wonders why the thought bothers him, but Zenyatta has no trouble admitting Akande is quite the rare find.

“As much as I would like to stay…” Zenyatta tilts his head up, fans spinning faster for a moment when Akande’s eyes sharpen, “for tonight, the gala has ended, so I should retire.”

Akande takes a step forwards, presses the side of his arm against Zenyatta’s shoulder. “Are you, really?”

“Yes.” Zenyatta hums, taps one finger against his mouth plate. “Today was quite a tiring day, but… I did enjoy the company.”

He steps away from Akande, slowly, tilts his head up, and gives him a forehead array smile. “Well, I’ll see you soon, Akande.”

He walks away calmly, aware of Akande’s stare on his back, and feels it his servos are crackling with energy, his fans spinning just a little bit faster to cool his chassis.

 


	2. Chapter 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter that required the rating folks :D

**Chapter 02**

 

His room is quiet when he gets there, and cold, but the heat on his chassis is enough that he doesn’t notice, his thermo-regulating sensors working to bring his core temperature to an optimal setting as he moves around the room.

The bottle of expensive oil remains where he left it the previous night, and so is the tablet. He glances at it, wondering if he should call Winston anyway, though not much has happened tonight, then decides not to.

Zenyatta is not tired, in fact his body is still tingling with leftover static, built up so quickly with how short his meeting with Akande was, and he feels even meditation will not help, this time.

There is a knock at the door.

He walks to it expecting another room service, though he does not think Akande would send him something again, but when he opens the door he has to look up, coming face-to-chest with Akande.

“… oh.”

Akande does not move to come inside, his body filling the entire frame of the door. “Am I… disturbing you?”

“… no, you are not.” Zenyatta does not even need to make a decision. He steps aside, offers Akande a view of his room. “Do you wish to come inside?”

Akande’s grin stretches slowly, lazily, on his lips. “Do not mind if I do.”

The door closes behind his back with a loud click, and suddenly, even this big room feels tight and constrictive around Zenyatta.

They are alone, and Akande turns to look at him, head tilted to the side, observing him in silence. Zenyatta finds himself at loss of words, and simply stares back, feels static dance in his circuits, and his gaze is caught by the curve of Akande’s arms under his suit, bulging a little in the dark of the room.

“Forgive me, but I do not have anything to offer to you,” he finds himself saying, the words almost thick in his synth.

“I think you do.” Akande takes a step closer, pressing against Zenyatta’s chest, invading his personal space, and Zenyatta looks up, feels his circuits flutter with want, and hums deep in his synth.

He feels like he should be wary, with nowhere to run, but he does not want to. He wants Akande here, he wants what is going to happen, and the thought sends a shiver down his back.

They have been dancing around one another since the start, but that is then, and this is now.

Zenyatta shifts forwards, pressing against Akande’s front, and then pushes against him. Akande acquiesces, raising both eyebrows, intrigued and curious, as Zenyatta continues to force him backwards.

He knows Akande is bigger than he is, and could easily stop him, but he doesn’t –he allows Zenyatta to back him into the wall near the door, his shoulders bumping against it, and stares down at him as Zenyatta presses himself flush against his chest.

“Hmm… you have me trapped, Zenyatta,” Akande murmurs, pleased, eyes dark. “What will you do with me?”

Zenyatta trails one hand up Akande’s chest, feels his muscles tense under his touch, the soft fabric of his suit crinkling, and his forehead array flickers.

“Enjoy you,” he murmurs.

Akande smirks, and leans down just enough to press his lips against the edge of Zenyatta’s mouth piece.

He has no lips to answer the kiss with, but it does not matter. He sends a sparkle of omnic energy through, feels it caress Akande’s lips and he makes a distinct, pleased sound, pressing further into the kiss, one hand sliding up Zenyatta’s chest to curl around his face plate, holding him still as if Zenyatta plans to move.

He has no intention to do that.

Instead he presses himself against Akande, grinds his hips into him, feels the heat of his body against his sensors, and shivers when Akande growls into the kiss, one thumb rubbing underneath his mouth piece, catching the edge of a sensor.

Zenyatta makes a small, startled moan, tilts his head to follow Akande’s mouth, demanding against his own. His hands dig into Akande’s suit, tugging the buttons open. He does not intend to wait, desire bubbling in his circuits, making heat spread from his core to every inch of his body.

He is giddy, and Akande answering to him, his other hand wrapping around his hip, keeping him close, makes that knot of desire burn stronger.

“I have wanted to do this since the moment I saw you,” Akande murmurs against the curve of his faceplate, voice rough and lips swollen, then he presses another kiss against him. “You were quite delectable to the eye.”

“Hmm… was I?” Zenyatta kisses him back, sparkles of omnic energy that have Akande growl. “You did look like you wished to devour me.” he hesitates, static making his synth crackle. “I would have gladly allowed you to.”

“Why did you resist me, then?” Akande’s hand guide Zenyatta’s hips into a slow grinding motion that has both of them hiss.

“Never give in too quickly,” Zenyatta grinds back, slow and steady, his modesty panel heating up as he feels the hard outline of Akande’s dick press against him. “Patience… is a virtue.”

“Not so patient now, though.” Akande is still smirking, even as he tilts his body forwards, his frame hovering on Zenyatta, almost as if he wants to eat him alive. Zenyatta shivers. “Or did I misunderstood your… pushing me against a wall?”

Zenyatta’s synth vibrated into a deep, low note. “You came to my room. One should never reject such a gift.”

Akande’s breath is hot against his face plate. They are pressed together, faces inches from one another, and Zenyatta wants to get rid of some of the excessive clothes Akande is wearing, if only to see more of his body.

“Well then, what do you want, Zenyatta?”

“… everything,” he murmurs, fingers unclasping one of the buttons of Akande’s jacket.

Slowly, he undoes all the buttons, and Akande shrugs off his jacket until it falls on the floor, unneeded. Zenyatta starts to open his white shirt as well, but Akande’s eyes curl around his back, caressing every hard curve of his frame, seeking tiny sensors that make Zenyatta jump and fumble with the buttons.

Big, calloused fingers find a sensor tucked at the base of his neck and rub against it, and Zenyatta gasps quietly, shivers running down his frame. His fans kick in loudly, regulating the temperature of his body, but he can do nothing about how hot Akande makes him.

“What is your limit, little monk?” Akande murmurs at the base of his neck, tilting his head so he can seek out more places to kiss. “How long can you go?”

“F… four,” Zenyatta feels lightheaded, the heat and ache between his legs enough that his modesty panel threatens to slide away, and they have not even started.

“Well then… let’s make it _five_.”

Akande’s hand slides down his front, wriggling between them, insistent in its search, palm pressed fully against Zenyatta’s modesty panel, and Zenyatta lets out a quiet, surprised gasp but grinds into the touch, feeling the hand cup him above his pants, rubbing against him.

“Cheeky,” Zenyatta manages, synth glitching even as pushes into the touch. “Will these be empty promises?”

A grin, wide and feral. “I never promise anything I do not plan to keep, Zenyatta.”

Processes get culled and other start up, and Zenyatta finally unbuttons the last of Akande’s white shirt, tugging it away to reveal his chest. He feels muscles twitch under his fingers as he runs his hands over the expanse of muscle, fat and skin, hard under his touch, unblemished save for a few scars here and there, which he traces with a finger.

“Intrigued?”

“How has a rich, educated man gained these marks?”

“I like to live dangerously.”

He shows off for Zenyatta without shame, flexing his muscles and dropping the shirt on the floor as well, but his tie is still around his neck, and Zenyatta grabs it and tugs him down so they can kiss again.

He feels heady, the heat and desire he feels mounting with each second they spend like this, waiting and teasing one another, but the wait only makes him want Akande more.

The hand cupping him slides lower, and Zenyatta gasps when Akande flexes his muscle and lifts him up, as if he weighs nothing, but before Zenyatta can say anything, lips find the sensors and tiny wires under his neck, and whatever he wanted to say dissolves into static moans.

He idly wonders, as he splays his legs a bit and grinds into the hand, how it would feel to have those fingers inside him as he’s lifted up in the air, riding them to completion, and his modesty panel slides off.

The fingers feel much better now, though there is still a layer of clothes between him and them, but the feeling of fabric pushing against his valve, plush and plump already, makes him ache with want.

“Impatient,” Akande murmurs.

Zenyatta groans and fumbles down with one hand, but he’s unable to reach where he wants, so instead he pushes one thigh between Akande’s legs, rubbing his knee against the growing hardness there. “I am… not the only one,” he answers, exhaling a synthetic breath when Akande’s thumb curves perfectly against him, pressing against Zenyatta’s nub, barely teasing it.

He feels himself leak, slick seeping through his pants to stain their fabric, but he does not care –all he cares about is grinding into Akande’s hand and kissing him, lips and omnic energy meeting halfway, growing more and more desperate.

Akande seems in favour of allowing him to continue like this, fingers nudging against him, maddening when he cannot take them inside him, his pants slowly becoming wet and damp with his own slick.

Zenyatta groans again, shoulders hitching up a bit, hands coming to grab Akande’s shoulders to give himself more leverage as he pushes into the touch.

He has forgotten how good this felt –another body, a human one, pressed against him, warm and hard and–

“Akande,” he whimpers, almost a plea, feet barely brushing against the floor, servos stretching as he grinds into that hand, his fans spinning to cool his body down even as his chassis heats up.

“Will you beg for me to give you more, monk?” Akande leans closer to his neck, lips against a sensor, sucking on it. “You sound delicious.”

Zenyatta feels a thrill go down his back.

His valve is aching, burning in a way that almost feels painful with how much he wants to get out of his pants, and as lightheaded as he is, the idea of moving to the bed sounds more and more enticing with every careful, even stroke of Akande’s thumb against his nub.

“I…”

“Beg for me to give you everything,” Akande murmurs, thick and heavy with desire, “beg for my fingers, and my mouth, and my _cock_.”

The hand pushes a little, straining against his pants, and Zenyatta makes a strangled, little needy sound, shaking.

Yet, he resists.

The pleasure working through his circuits is maddening and heady, his valve is leaking and pulsating with need, Akande’s body is big, and hard, and hot against his frame, and all he wants is to concede, let Akande do as he pleases with him, wants to give in and beg, and yet…

Is this not part of the game, as well?

He lifts one trembling hand, curls it under Akande’s chin, and drags him down to mash their faces together, the flicker of omnic energy he sends him the strongest he can make. It buzzes against his face plate and burns against Akande’s lips, more than just a tingle, and Akande hisses and pushes into it, the hand holding him up, rubbing against him, falters for a moment and lowers him down. Zenyatta falls on his feet and again pushes hard against Akande’s body, shoves him into the wall and grinds into him, into his hand, daydreams of those fingers fucking hard and fast into him, and almost climaxes just from that, tiny sounds coming out of his synth like desperate whimpers.

Akande growls, deep in his throat, so deep it vibrates through his chest and into Zenyatta’s body, but it is not an angry sound –he is pleased, it is almost a laugh, and then…

Akande pushes Zenyatta away from him, but before Zenyatta can feel more than a sudden chill, before he can protest, Akande drops down to his knees in front of him, and looks up.

Zenyatta finds himself staring down at the slow, predatory smirk on Akande’s face, and thinks –he looks good, kneeling in front of him.

Then, Akande’s hands move to his hips, circle them, slide to the front, and finally push down Zenyatta’s pants, which slide off his legs and pool around his feet.

He is left bared to Akande’s eyes, no modesty plate, valve flushed and swollen and leaking down a trail on his thighs, the nub peeking from the tip of its folds, glowing softly.

“What a feast,” Akande’s voice is hushed and raw. “If you will not beg, I have… other means.”

Zenyatta has barely enough time to prepare himself as Akande shifts his weight forwards, and buries himself in Zenyatta’s valve, mouth open to taste.

For a second he’s left shocked, almost toppling back, but Akande’s hands cup around his hips, keep him steady, and then with a jolt, he feels Akande’s lower lip drag from the bottom of his valve up in a single, long stroke.

He gasps, arches his back, hands scrambling for purchase, digging into the back of Akande’s neck, folding into his shirt and tugging, but Akande does not move away, and the sensation is just so–

“Oh–”

The pleasure is instantaneous, it bursts from every sensor in his valve, as Akande drags his lip up, slowly, laps up the slick he finds on his way up, and Zenyatta feels his tongue peek from his mouth to barely caress his folds, not pushing into him, just…

His legs threaten to give in, but they don’t, not with Akande tugging him closer, moving back until he’s pressed into the wall, and looks up as he finds Zenyatta’s nub with his lips, pursing them to suck on it, and Zenyatta muffles a loud, strangled moan with one hand covering his synth.

“Take what you want, monk,” Akande tells him, and it’s not quite an order as it is an invitation, and Zenyatta is shocked, a sudden, powerful shudder going through his body.

Akande is flat against the wall now, with Zenyatta against him, above him, thighs framing his head, and it is clear what Akande wants, and Zenyatta doesn’t even have his cock unsheathed yet, but…

He grinds against Akande’s face, tentatively, hands trembling as they tighten their hold on Akande’s neck. Akande answers by opening his mouth wide, his tongue pushing out to meet Zenyatta’s thrust, and it slides against his folds, flickers on his nub and retreats.

Zenyatta chases the feeling, trembling and shaking and moaning, pleasure cresting inside him, insistent, wanting him to pursue it, and so he does.

He thrusts into that hot, pliant mouth again, pushes Akande’s head into the wall and keens when Akande’s tongue breeches him, slides just a little inside him, a teasing penetration that is not enough, and he wants more–

Akande’s hands wrap around his metal plating, keep him there, tug him closer, and Zenyatta grinds again into him, starts a slow, broken rhythm, gasps and tugs at Akande’s neck, aware that he might dictate the pace, but he’s still completely into Akande’s control.

The thought is still as enticing as it was before, and Akande’s mouth is hot and ready and willing to please him, so Zenyatta takes what he’s offered.

Akande’s mouth makes soft, wet sounds as he laps at his valve, teal slick dribbling down his chin, tongue coming out more and more, pushing past his folds to lick and taste, and Zenyatta pushed into it, forces Akande’s head to bump into the wall and keeps him there, his own sounds and moans growing louder as he shivers, the hands holding him still coming to toy with the wires at the base of his spine, tugging and caressing sensors and nodes, and… and…

“Akande, I’m–” he tries to offer a vague, broken warning, even as he can’t stop himself, grinding harder into Akande’s mouth.

Lips find his nub, suck on it in quick, thirsty bursts, tongue flat on its underside, and fingers trace his cables, dip into them, tug and pull at the sensors deep into his spine, just right, just so, it’s almost enough–

With a stuttered moan, Zenyatta thrusts hard against Akande’s mouth and climaxes, rides his orgasm with Akande’s mouth and tongue hot against him, taking and sucking and licking and guiding him until he’s spent and oversensitive, keep him close even as Zenyatta shakes and slumps over him, forehead bumping into the wall and shaking as Akande does not let him go, mouth still greedily lapping at him.

“Ah… _ah_ –” Zenyatta’s fingers dig into the shoulders of the suit, tug at the fabric, insistent and overwhelmed, as more bursts of pleasure are stolen from him, a tongue dipping as far into him as it can go, penetrating him before moving out to lap at his folds again, leaving him aching and empty as he can’t help but chase it, as Akande keeps him still until the last of his orgasm fades into languid aftershocks.

Akande’s hands move to his hips, guide him away from his head, and Zenyatta’s unfocused optical receptors stare down at him; he is panting hard, mouth and chin covered in teal slick and saliva, and when he sees Zenyatta watching, he makes a show of licking his lips.

Zenyatta leans on the wall, feeling the warmth of his climax travel through his body like liquid fire, relaxing his servos.

“That… makes it one.” Akande hoists himself up, towering over Zenyatta. “Shall we continue, monk?”

Zenyatta presses one shaky hand against his naked chest, and hums deep in his synth, attempting to sound more collected than he is. “I prefer when you use my name.”

“Oh, is that so? Would you beg me for it, then?”

“Still so focused on something so inconsequential,” Zenyatta murmurs. He is amused, and his body feels warm and lazy, even as his valve aches for what he has not had yet. “Why do you want me to?”

“Because you would be so pretty,” Akande takes a step forwards, flush against Zenyatta, and pushes him away from the wall, hands helping him to stay upright as he leaves behind his pants in a pool on the floor. “On your back, on the bed, well spread open for me, begging me to fuck you harder.”

This sends a shiver down Zenyatta’s back, the words calling forth a vivid, powerful mental image that wraps around his head like a cloud of heat, and the ports on his shoulders open to exhale gusts of steam.

“But…” Akande is still smirking, and brings one hand down Zenyatta’s chest, past his exposed midsection and to the tip of his valve, thumb caressing the slot where his cock is still sheathed “we should give this some attention, now. Perhaps that will be more convincing.”

He lifts Zenyatta up in his arms like he weighs nothing, and Zenyatta wraps both arms around Akande’s shoulders, though rather than seek his lips for a kiss he goes for his throat. He cannot leave a trail of kisses the way a human could, with lips and teeth, but he can use his omnic energy to mimic the feeling of it, and the result will be the same –a red mark, obvious to any and all who will look at it the next day.

Zenyatta flickers omnic energy against Akande’s throat, pushes his mouth plate against it, feels Akande’s heart jump under the skin, the growl that passes between them, vibrating in Akande’s chest and in Zenyatta’s chassis, and Akande’s pace falters for a second.

“You test my patience, monk.” He hisses, but there is a smirk on his lips, and Zenyatta hums.

“I wonder,” he murmurs back, feeling the strength of Akande’s muscles as he carries him, “how far it’d take for your patience to truly break, and what expression you’d show me then.”

“What a monk you are, teasingly devious. You will have me dancing to your every desire if I do not stop you.”

“Were you not the one wishing for me to bare myself to your eyes, begging and pleading for your cock?” Akande is startled by the sudden vulgarity but then he chuckles, amused, so amused. “Would you not wish to have me obeying your every word? Spread and wanton, moaning only your name?”

He traces down Akande’s jugular, the curve of his Adam’s apple, where it disappears under his tie, then Akande drops him and he falls on the mattress, bouncing a little in surprise, cold now that Akande’s body is away from him.

“As I said, you are devious, when I should be the one teasing until you give in.”

Akande moves to slide the tie from around his neck in one slow, smooth motion, Zenyatta’s optical receptors caught staring at it before he realises he’s stretched on the bed without his pants, and the shirt partially open to reveal a bit of his chest. He is not sure dishevelled can be used when referring to an omnic, but he does think it is a fitting term for the way he feels.

Akande is unzipping his pants, and it attracts Zenyatta’s attention, magnetic, even as he drops them on the floor together with his white shirt, and remains standing there, naked and presenting himself to Zenyatta without a hint of shame nor modesty –not that there would be need of either, and Zenyatta does not look away, admiring his body and feeling himself ache.

“Do you want me, monk?”

“I would certainly hope so,” he murmurs back, still enticed enough by the sight that he is not quite aware of what he’s saying. “It would be a dreadful waste of all of this if I did not.”

His words make Akande laugh, loud and amused, and the action does nothing to lessen Zenyatta’s attraction –if anything, it makes it more obvious, as his cock unlatches, ignored until then and tucked away.

Akande’s laughter ceases as his eyes travel down to it, just as hungry as Zenyatta is for him.

He makes a show of turning around to allow Zenyatta a view of all his body, and Zenyatta admires the curve of his back, his shoulder blades and then lower, the perfect shape of his ass. There are more scars, and Zenyatta’s optical receptors travel to where Akande’s body has had modifications added to it. He has noticed before that it’s not just Akande’s hand that is a prosthetic but his entire arm up to the shoulder, but now the haze of lust has retreated enough that he can admire the job –the work is delicate and detailed, obviously high-end.

“I used to fight, when I was younger.” Akande tells him, seeing his interest. “Sadly, that came to an end. Augmentations are not well accepted there.” Then he laughs, soft and amused. “Here I thought you would be far more interested in something else which I can assure you, might please you more than this hand.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickers in a smile, even as Akande’s words send a flutter of anticipation down his circuits. He looks down, unabashed, to stare at Akande’s cock, fully hard between his legs, and then he can’t look away.

“Oh my,” he finds himself murmuring.

It is… big. Bigger than Zenyatta has seen in a long while, and the idea of having that in him–

“Now _that_ is more the reaction I was hoping for, Zenyatta.”

Akande advances towards him like a predator on the prowl, a man who knows how enticing and handsome he looks and uses it to his advantage, and Zenyatta parts his legs, offers Akande a good look of his valve, still wet and plump from his earlier touches, his prosthetic cock leaking, and shivers, for he is not sure if Akande will _fit_ , but he is well intentioned to try his best.

Akande climbs on the bed and the mattress cedes under his weight, covers Zenyatta with his massive body and Zenyatta restrains a soft, needy sound at this when the tip of Akande’s cock drags against his inner thigh, making his sensors flare up at the sensation.

He is all muscle and dark skin, and then Akande’s prosthetic hand caresses down Zenyatta’s neck, thumb tracing the length of his piston, then lower, palm splayed on Zenyatta’s exposed midsection, and lower still to grab his cock, thumb curling on the underside, and Zenyatta gasps and thrusts into the touch.

“Akande,” Zenyatta moans, and remembers his words from before, but hopes that maybe he will hurry, that maybe he can get to the main course, have Akande prepare him and fuck him as he promised. “I…”

When the first wave of static tickles the sensors on the underside of his cock, Zenyatta startles and jolts, his synth hiccupping at the sensation, and he falls against the sheets in surprise.

“Ah–!”

“I might not have mentioned, but I have… a few interesting aces up my sleeve,” Akande murmurs.

His hand jacks him off slowly, one thumb caressing the crown of Zenyatta’s cock, and another wave of static travels from his fingers down the length of it, touching all his sensors.

Zenyatta arches his back and makes a strangled noise, and his hands scramble to hold on Akande’s wrist, not to stop him but to hold on him– and Akande, without even pausing his strokes, reaches out with his other hand, grabs Zenyatta’s trembling wrists, and tugs them out of the way, pressing with his weight on them until he has Zenyatta properly pinned under him.

“Is this alright?” Akande leans down, presses his lips on the edge of Zenyatta’s mouth plate, his hand stilling around his cock.

His mind hazy with pleasure, static making his sensors tingle all over his body, Zenyatta takes a few, precious seconds to register Akande’s words.

He does not even try to push Akande away. They look at one another, silent, and Zenyatta has enough time to feel everything –the hand steady on his cock, his wet, aching valve, the way Akande is pinning him down, controlling and demanding, towering over him in a way that could be scary, yet all Zenyatta can think about is how hot this is, and how much he wants this, and Akande.

Yet, it is not in his nature to concede easily.

“Yes,” he hums, deep in his throat. “Yet, do not think I will be easy to break. I will still not beg, Akande.”

The rumbling sound of Akande’s laughter is unsurprising yet welcome as Akande leans down to kiss his mouth piece, then lower, lips pressing down against his pistons, nudging Zenyatta’s head up until he’s facing the ceiling, allowing him enough room to get at the tiny, sensitive wires under his jaw.

“Either way, I will still get what I want,” is his reply.

The third wave of static catches Zenyatta unprepared even though he’d expected it, and it is just as overwhelming as before, travelling up his back so quickly he can only moan, arching up against Akande’s chest, but he is pinned so well he has little room to move.

Akande nibbles the wires under his jaw, and more sparkles of pleasure join the rest, lulling his body in a haze.

He’s barely aware of parting his legs, of welcoming Akande’s body between them, but the hand on his cock moves again, slow and teasing, and Zenyatta’s focus turns to it.

It drags up his cock, fingers tracing every ridge and bump of it, seeking the tiny sensors all the way up, and Zenyatta’s chest jolts every time Akande’s thumb rolls under the curve of his tip, spreading more of his slick as it gushes out, helping lessen the friction.

Then Akande’s hand moves back down, retracing the same path, middle finger slipping lower, reaching the edge of Zenyatta’s valve to caress his glowing nub, adding to the ache as all Zenyatta wants is for his hand to move lower and get inside him.

He finds himself chasing the finger as it moves away, Akande resuming his slow palming of his cock, and it is only after what feels like forever that his finger returns to tease his nub before moving away again.

It is… torturous, the teasing torture of his pleasure building slowly inside him like a tide, feeling good yet so slow, and it’s not _enough_.

“I wonder, how long would it take to get you incoherent, Zenyatta?” the way Akande says his name, the way it rolls on his tongue, has Zenyatta gasp. “How long until my hand is not enough, and you beg for more? For my fingers to prepare you, for my cock to fill you…?”

“If… I am still thinking, I would say you have a long road ahead of you,” he finds himself gasping, even as the same finger reaches down to circle around his nub before retreating again.

He is burning, and the fans in his body spin fast and then faster, trying to cool his body enough, but his insides are burning for an entirely different thing, and yet Zenyatta is denied again, as with every slow, teasing stroke, the hand never gets any closer to his valve, never fast enough to be satisfying.

Akande’s lips find the crook of his jaw again, working in rhythm with his strokes, and Zenyatta makes more, strangled sounds.

He tries to wriggle, heady and hot, but Akande does not let him up, unmoving and strong on top of him, and Zenyatta shudders, the idea of being so completely trapped only adding to the desire he already feels.

“Is this good, Zenyatta? To cede control, allowing someone else to dictate the pace, to play with your body as I am doing now, drag out moans from you that no one else would be able to hear?”

And all Zenyatta wants to say is –yes, his processes overclocking, culled as he makes more room to let the feeling of Akande working on him wash over him.

He’s willingly trapped, and if he wanted to, if he wished, he could roll them around, use his powers to free himself; it would be a fight, and one Zenyatta would perhaps enjoy, on a different day, but tonight…

Tonight he’s pinned, with Akande lavishing him with attention, and wants to be nowhere else, wants nothing more than this.

“You will take me so well,” Akande continues to speak, breath hot against the curve of his neck, and there’s another wave of static that scatters Zenyatta’s thoughts, the pleasure spiking up again. He angles himself, tries to fuck his cock into Akande’s hand, but he can’t, he can go nowhere, straining and pinned, and he feels more of his slick gush out of his valve, so sensitive, primed for contact, if only Akande would– “I cannot wait to bury myself in you, fuck you into the bed, watch the way you suck my cock _in_ and beg for it…”

Zenyatta moans again, and another wave of static shoots through him. He stutters, frantic now, but has no time to come down from the spike of pleasure that another wave of static hits him, so soon after the first, and he sobs.

He feels himself close, even with Akande’s careful, slow movements, and grinds into the touch until he feels Akande shift, moving away from between his legs only enough to shove one knee against his wet valve.

Naked muscle slaps against him, the wet sound almost lewd over his moans, Akande’s knee pressing hard against his valve, and he makes another desperate, hungry sound of pleasure and grinds into it, Akande’s hand still tight around his cock, moving so slow, coaxing him, and–

Akande stops.

Zenyatta is close, so close he could reach his orgasm with a few quick, needy thrusts into Akande’s hand, but Akande stops him, presses down into him with his bigger body so he can’t even writhe, and watches as Zenyatta gasps and shudders under him, unable to take his own pleasure from him like before.

Hazy and burning, Zenyatta makes soft noises as he tries to push up into Akande, but he can’t –Akande shifts his weight so well he’d effectively trapped, and the hand curled around his wrists is tight and unforgiving.

He cannot move, and he is, effectively, at Akande’s mercy.

“Ah…” his chest heaves wish gasps, even if he has no lungs nor need to breathe, the tremors of pleasure rolling up his back making him shake. “Akande…?”

“Do you wish to beg now, monk?” slow, deliberate, Akande looks down into Zenyatta’s optical receptors, knowing he has Zenyatta where he wants him.

Zenyatta shakes his head, even as his chassis heats up and burns.

“I could give it to you so easily, just… like… this…” Akande’s thumb rolls against a sensor under the tip of Zenyatta’s cock, pressing down so lightly it feels like there is barely any pressure at all, not enough to help him come, not enough to–

Zenyatta’s optical receptors blur, recalibrate, fail to focus on Akande’s face and go fuzzy at the corners, yet he still refuses, the pleasure rocking through his body good, but he still enjoys the tease.

The edge of his pleasure dims and simmers down, and Zenyatta’s shaking calms, just a bit, body thrumming and primed, valve so slick and leaking he is afraid of the mess he has made of Akande’s knee and of the sheets underneath them.

Akande’s lips come to kiss down the curve of his mouth piece, down to his neck, and he strains to offer him more space to work with, even as Akande’s hand still does not move, keeps him frozen in place.

Zenyatta catches glimpses of Akande’s lips , omnic energy pooling under the surface of his chassis and surging up to kiss him back, flickers at them, watches as Akande’s shoulders jump lightly at the stimulation, and hums, deep in his synth.

“I see,” Akande murmurs, voice thick as he smiles, slow and wide, sharp and pleased. “No intention to beg, yet.”

“No,” he answers, doing his best to keep his voice even, “not… convinced yet.”

Akande’s hand starts to move again.

Eyes fixed on Zenyatta’s face plate, on his forehead array, on the seam of his mouth piece, Akande exhales and laughs and his hand drags down the curve of Zenyatta’s cock, thumb caressing every ridge and sensor, and then he does it again, and again.

Zenyatta tries to thrust into the hand, but he’s unable to move, spread open and pinned, and when Akande’s knee starts to grind into his valve again, pressing into it so hard it’s almost an ache, Zenyatta allows himself to wonder, with a thrill of excitement, if he should not give in, now, if…

The next wave of static hits him, and he startles, strains to move yet he can’t, and–

This time, the static wave continues without letting up.

It builds from the hand wrapped around his cock, vibrating down its length, the edges of it reaching his valve, the pleasure spreading so quickly inside him that he can’t think, his attention focused sharply on how good it feels, burning its way inside his frame, stealing processes, expanding like a ripple, taking him deeper.

“Ah–!”

The static shocks through him again and again, a continuous vibration that buzzes through his circuits, again and again, and every ripple grows more and more intense, and Zenyatta is suddenly aware that he’s whining, deep in his synth, that he can’t stop the small sounds he’s making and that Akande is staring down at him, intense and sharp and focused, and he can’t go anywhere, he can’t grind into Akande’s hand, nor into his knee, still rubbing against his valve yet leaving it leaking and empty, he can’t do anything about this pleasure except take it, and Akande leans closer, his face swallowing the world around them until he’s the only thing he can see, the only one he can sense and hear and feel, and nothing else matters.

Akande kisses his mouth seam, a bruising kiss he cannot return, his own omnic energy faltering under the constant static that sends his processes astray, culled as it grows inside him, stronger, and he feels it taking over, and he can’t do anything except moan, whine and jolt under Akande’s body and– and–

Zenyatta comes hard in Akande’s hand, his lubrication making a mess of his chest, translucent teal coming to stain his shirt and jacket.

The static shocks pleasure through his circuits until he’s choking and sobbing, hips shaking with the effort to rock into Akande’s knee, body arching up just a little into Akande’s.

The hand tight around his cock moves to the base, two fingers reaching lower, and they find his nub, and the static shocks through it, his fingers pressed between Akande’s knee and Zenyatta’s nub, and Zenyatta–

He screams and crests over again, vision offlining and all thoughts ceasing for a moment as his synth crackles and splinters into white noise.

Zenyatta rides the pleasure with small, needy moans, unable to be quiet as Akande finally stops the static, his hand warm around his cock as he guides Zenyatta through his high until his chest is heaving and his core is humming loudly.

It feels–

He feels like he’s floating, but his valve still aches, empty and wet and Zenyatta can’t remember why he wanted to resist, why Akande is still not fucking him, but his body is warm and heavy, still pinned into the mattress, and he still cannot move.

He thinks he’s losing consciousness, his processes overtaxed by the static, pleasure still thrumming inside him, but it feels good enough that he cares nothing, lost in the sensation.

Slowly, he comes to, finding the sheets pooled around his head.

He’s dizzy and lethargic, and then Akande lets go of his wrists, though his arms are so heavy he can’t move them.

Zenyatta feels Akande caress his neck and his pistons, feels one warm, human hand unbutton the rest of his shirt to expose his chest, feels fingers reach deep inside the plating, and moans.

“Forgive me,” Akande’s voice is warm and soft in his auricular receptors, but it still takes him a few seconds to understand the actual words. “I had not meant to overwhelm you.”

The fog in his thought processes is still there, making it difficult to focus, but Zenyatta makes a soft noise, synth glitching, and feels Akande’s thumbs rub gentle circles on his hips, both hands away from his spent cock.

His valve still aches, empty, but he is… tired, and languid, as Akande leans down to kiss him again, with a tenderness he had not expected in such a situation.

“The static was stronger than I had anticipated,” Akande speaks again, voice still soft. “I think you should rest, now.”

The meaning strikes him and he jolts, fog clearing just enough for him to understand what Akande means, then he makes himself shake his head, tired and aching but still wanting.

“N… no,” he moans, and his own voice sounds almost distorted to his auricular receptors. “I need…” he slurs, forces his tired servos to move, and parts his thighs just a bit, exposing himself further. “Please…”

He aches for Akande to make his promises true, and watches through blurry vision as Akande looks at him in surprise before he hums. “So, I did get to make you beg,” he murmurs, pleased despite the situation. He slides one hand down to circle Zenyatta’s valve, primed and ready for him. “I will have to be gentle,” he says, and there is an edge to his tone that tells Zenyatta that gentleness is truly a concession. “At least this time. I will make sure, tomorrow to rectify this.”

When he aligns his cock, still so hard, against Zenyatta’s valve, it slides in with difficulty despite the amount of lubrication, slick helping him even if Zenyatta feels it stretch him wide, as he had expected.

He is sure he would have felt more of a burn, but all he feels now is the smooth slide of Akande’s cock as it fills him, rubbing into sensors that make Zenyatta gasp and buck into it, pleasure sparking up again as finally –finally– Akande fucks into him.

True to his words, he’s slow, and gentle –he rocks his hips into Zenyatta, thrusting deep inside him and using his hands to keep Zenyatta’s thighs well spread open, thumb seeking out small sensors and caressing them.

Zenyatta is…

He feels pleasure every time Akande thrusts into him, overwhelmed already, still so drunk on the earlier pleasure that this is just a continuation of that, building like a tide he has no intentions to resist.

Every drag of Akande’s cock is delicious against his sensors, already bubbling with his last orgasm, static still making him twitch even as he grinds into Akande, attempts to match every thrust, even with so little energy he has left.

One of Akande’s hands presses down against his core, grounding him, the other continues its slow, steady caresses on his thigh before moving up his hip. It does not touch his cock, but Zenyatta would not need any more stimulation there, when everything is a little too much, every inch of his chassis warm and tingling, sensors flaring at the slightest brush against the sheets or Akande’s skin.

“Ah… ah–”

Akande huffs against his face plate, hums and makes small noises deep in his throat every slow, even thrust, and Zenyatta knows that though he’s been hard until now, waiting until he could fuck him, he’s still going slow, pacing himself for Zenyatta’s pleasure and groans louder, eclipsing Akande’s softer grunts with his own moaning.

His climax takes him by surprise, a tilt of Akande’s hips that drives his cock deeper inside him and he’s gone, stuttering and burying half of his face plate into the bed under him, fingers tangled in the sheets as Akande grunts and thrusts into him only a few more times, losing his even pace right at the end to fuck into him just a bit faster before he comes as well, eyes fluttering close as he rides his own orgasm, stilling inside Zenyatta.

Oversensitive and depleted, Zenyatta groans as Akande moves, his cock coming out of him with a gush of slick lubrication and a wet sound that has him shiver.

Every part of his chassis is sensitive, sensors alight and receptive, and it takes him a long while before he can trust himself with moving, even if it’s just to close his legs. Akande sits at his side, exhaling loudly, eyes sliding down Zenyatta’s form as neither speaks, simply enjoying the afterglow and the sight of Zenyatta, spent and sprawled on the bed, covered with translucent lubrication.

It takes Zenyatta a while to recalibrate enough that his processors start to properly work again, the orgasmic haze receding enough that he can truly enjoy the way his body feels –languid, well-fucked, warm and sated.

Akande stretches leisurely, muscles ripping as he does so, a sheen of sweat on his naked skin, and hums as he stares down at him.

“We could have done this on the first night,” he states, and there is a smirk on his lips that entirely betrays he’s poking fun at Zenyatta.

“It would not have pleased you half as much, if I had relented so easily.” Zenyatta runs diagnostics on his body, then chuckles. “You have made quite a mess of me.”

“Hmmm. Quite a sight.”

He stands, and Zenyatta’s optical receptors follow his every move as he noiselessly walks across the hotel room and into the bathroom to grab a towel, and as he comes back, Zenyatta finds his eyes still caught by his frame and muscles.

“I’d say the same about you,” he states, even as Akande returns on the mattress and starts to help him clean himself, towel cool and pleasant on his heated chassis, “but I fear you hear that far too much as it is.”

Akande chuckles. “You wound me. For how pleasing it is to have anyone fall at my feet, the words have quite a different meaning when they’re said by someone I share a bed with, I am sure you’d agree.”

“Quite.” Zenyatta sighs, content with allowing Akande to clean him, processes still recuperating from the overstimulation, and it surprises him when he feels drowsy, his battery levels far lower than he had expected.

Akande must have noticed, because he drops the towel on the ground near the bed, and hums. “Do you wish for me to leave?” he asks, and the politeness, the offer for Zenyatta to make the choice himself, is enough that he hesitates, wondering if he should not ask him to stay, but…

“I am rather afraid I would not be a decent companion. You have made… more of a mess of me than I expected, and I will need to recover. That…” his optical receptors fall on Akande’s prosthetic hand “was incredibly intense.”

Clenching his fist tightly, Akande hums. “I noticed. You were quite the sight, but I had not meant to overwhelm you so.”

Zenyatta finally finds enough energy to move, one arm slowly shifting so he can press his hand on Akande’s fist. “It felt good, just… unexpected, and I could not calibrate around that much pleasure. You were quite the insistent lover, yet a very dedicated one. Thank you.”

Akande’s shoulders shake in mirth and he laughs. “So I hope you will not be against doing this again.”

Zenyatta’s body is depleted, tired and spent, yet at Akande’s words, a spark of want still makes it way down his back.

“I would be amenable to that, yes.” He hesitates, then adds “you did mention you wanted to do more, I would be remiss if I let that offer go.”

“Hmmm. Indeed.” Akande leans down, closes in on Zenyatta’s face plate to kiss him, and by then Zenyatta has recovered enough to kiss him back, omnic energy licking his lips in small, teasing bursts. “I never give empty words, Zenyatta.”

He does leave then, casually redressing in front of Zenyatta, who admires the view as he finally stands up to sit on the bed, and then he walks Akande to the door, where he presses their bodies together, Akande’s back against the doorframe, and kisses him one last time.

As he walks back to the bed, shuffling the sheets so he won’t be resting on the parts soiled with his lubrication, he feels something slowly trickle out of his valve.

The trip to the bathroom takes him a while, legs shaky under him, and when he gets there, he’s made even more of a mess of himself.

When he finally returns to bed, much later, he’s tired enough that he powers off the moment his back hits the mattress.

 


	3. Chapter 03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who forgot to post the last chapter of this fic? hhh sorry... also the ending might seem anticlimatic but it opens itself for possible sequels soooo :3

**Chapter 03**

Zenyatta wakes late in the morning to three missed calls.

He stumbles out of bed sluggishly, his battery restored, but processes still lethargic, and as he stands up, he runs another diagnostic test, pleased to see that despite the strain, his circuits are in perfect condition.

As he looks down at his body, that bears no mark of Akande’s presence on him, he can’t help but shiver, thinking about the intensity of the man’s desire, and his actions of the night before.

It has been a long time since he’s allowed himself to let go in such a way, and longer since he’s had such a giving partner, not to mention one that appeared so attracted to him, and Zenyatta feels the novelty of it like a spark of energy down his back.

He finds himself humming as he checks on the missed calls and is glad to see none of them is from Winston; two calls are, in fact, from Genji, and one from Jesse, so after a moment of careful deliberation, he calls the latter first.

“Good morning,” he says, as Jesse’s face appears on his tablet. “Forgive me for not answering earlier, but I was still resting.”

Jesse looks a little healthier today as well, and he has regained some colour on his face which is reassuring, but the slow spread of a smile as he watches Zenyatta is decidedly less so. “Oi, Zen, see you got… lucky, last night.”

Zenyatta fumbles with himself and splutters, forehead array flaring in shock; he hadn’t expected Jesse to pick up on it so easily, or so quickly at that –and it destabilizes him, so much that it takes him a few seconds before he can speak. “I… Jesse, how could you possibly…?”

“You just have that look, Zen… and don’t you say anything, you know what I mean!” Jesse grins, and then wriggles his eyebrows. “Hope it was worth the wait! Good for you, partner, having fun ‘n taking some time off!”

And then Jesse offers him a thumbs up, which makes Zenyatta’s shoulders shake in silent laughter, too surprised to be truly embarrassed.

“Not to make it obvious that I am changing the subject, considering how supportive you are of my sexual exploits, Jesse –but let me say, I am glad you seem to feel better, today.”

“Ah, ach. Fareeha got back from a mission and had her mom’s recipe for a cold fixer, got me all right and rearing to go.” Despite the cheerful tone, Jesse grimaces and shudders, sign the taste was not as good as the result. “Sorry I bothered you this morning, just wanted to make sure you were, y’know, still doing alright. But uh, I just wanted to tell you… I still have time to come n’ keep you company, since I’m feeling better.”

Zenyatta hums and shifts on the chair, and the movement makes his lower body ache –but in a pleasant way, like a reminder. “I will be alright, Jesse. I promise you, nothing interesting is happening, and I have had quite enough time to scope out a few contacts.”

“You mean, nothing interesting except your mystery lover, right?”

“ _Jesse_.” Zenyatta’s tone is dry. “But yes, other than him.”

“So… what’s your type, huh?”

“You _did_ just call me to gossip, didn’t you?”

“Can’t hide anything from you Zen…”

Zenyatta ponders whether to close the call now –not because he is offended, far from it, but simply to tease Jesse, who appears honestly curious about his personal life– but in the end he decides to simply answer. “Tall,” he starts, tapping one finger on his chin as he thinks about Akande. “Muscular.”

“Ah, Genji was out of the question from day one then, but I think I’m still good to go!”

This startles a surprised laughter out of Zenyatta. “Jesse!”

“What? Like you wouldn’t tap _this_?” Jesse makes a show of flexing his arm –much to Zenyatta’s amusement, his prosthetic one– and his expression is of mock seriousness, enough that Zenyatta can’t help but laugh again.

“To be fair, Genji’s muscles are bigger than yours, Jesse,” he says, and Jesse looks so utterly _affronted_ that Zenyatta dissolves into laughter all over again, covering his mouth piece with one hand even as Jesse answers ‘but I’m _taller_!’ which does nothing to calm his mirth.

He delivers what he thinks is the last nail in the coffin after taking a moment to collect himself. “Actually, I think the challenger you’re seeking a confrontation with is Reinhardt.”

This time, it’s Jesse who splutters, surprised by Zenyatta’s candid admission, then he hums, scratching at his chin. “Y’know what? You got me there. Can’t compete with _that_ much muscle.”

The call ends not too long after that, but Zenyatta is still smiling when he moves across the room; the mirth ends abruptly when he picks up his clothes, abandoned around the floor, and notices they bear… unfortunate stains from the previous night.

Embarrassment curls inside his circuits, but at the same time he feels a lick of heat at the memory, Akande’s mouth on him, and then his fingers, and then–

Shaking himself out of this train of thought, which Zenyatta knows will bring nothing productive to the day, he sighs. He only has a handful of spare suits, as he did not expect he would end up ruining one in such a way, yet… here he is, with dirty clothes and still no idea whether there is a laundry nearby. He seems to be collecting them, actually, he thinks idly as his optical receptors fall on the jacket Lúcio left to him. This is the second suit he ended up ruining –though hopefully, a dry cleaner will solve the matter.

He wonders if perhaps asking the hotel reception will help, but the area is rather expensive and posh, and he suspects he will only waste his time.

The idea of sending the clothes off to clean is… also rather embarrassing.

That only leaves him the option to go to the gala with the daily clothes Hana got him, but he knows he would stick out like a sore thumb, and if he was here as a Shambali, the thought would not bother him at all –yet he is here for OverWatch, and this makes quite the difference.

He is still pondering what to do –perhaps, he could attempt to clean one of the suits in the bathroom sink– when a muffled voice from the door announces the arrival of a steward.

“Room service,” the man says, polite as ever, as Zenyatta opens the door, and offers him a flat package.

Zenyatta accepts it and observes it for a moment. “Is this, by chance, from Akande Ogundimu?”

“Yes, sir. He says… he hopes this will be useful for you.”

The steward bows and leaves, face carefully blank, and Zenyatta hums, inspecting the package once more before finally opening it. His forehead array flickers as he is presented with the sight of a beautifully tailored suit –black, with crimson accents.

The fabric is soft under his sensors, smooth and obviously expensive, and Zenyatta can’t help but feel shocked at the gift. Its arrival coincides with Zenyatta’s realization about his own clothes, and he has to wonder if Akande expected it to happen, or if perhaps, he’d felt partially at fault for the untimely end of his suit.

There is a message tucked neatly in the folds of the suit and Zenyatta opens it.

_‘Forgive a man for the assumption that this gift will please you. Hopefully I will be able to see you wearing it, and perhaps… I will be allowed to be the one to take it off you, tonight.’_

It is not signed, but there is no need for that.

Zenyatta carefully considers the matter. On one side, he does need something to wear, but the idea of wearing something gifted to him, something this expensive, would imply…

Well. There are definitely some implications there; Akande is a smart, intelligent man, and Zenyatta is not sure whether to take this sort of step considering they only met recently.

Still, for a man like Akande, a gift of this sort might mean nothing much –a mere whim, perhaps.

There is also the thrill of the second part of the message –the promise of another night, much like the previous one, and Zenyatta’s circuits tingle at the thought, _ache_ for it.

That is worrisome as well –it is not an _attachment_ , but his interest for Akande is… rather obvious. They will part ways, eventually, and he knows better than to fool himself, so he could allow this whirlwind of an adventure to truly sweep him off his feet, and enjoy every second of it, without second thoughts…

But Zenyatta is, above all, someone who thinks carefully, first and foremost.

So he considers everything, and how dangerously appealing a man like Akande is for him, and then he thinks about Jesse, calling him, all smiles and supportive words, and chuckles to himself.

Perhaps, it is not as big of a problem as he makes it out to be.

***

He feels Akande’s eyes on him the moment he steps into the inner gardens of the hotel.

Zenyatta was expecting some attention –he did appear to the gala dressed with the clothes he’s been gifted– but the moment Akande notices him from the other side of a crowded hall, taller than those surrounding him, he disregards his company instantly, his full attention shifting so intently to Zenyatta that he feels almost winded by it, the weight of Akande’s piercing stare heavy even from such a distance.

The clothes Akande sent him feel like silk on his body, fall on it like they were made for him –and Zenyatta could pass it off as just a coincidence, but Akande’s attention to detail seems to imply otherwise. They also feel too expensive for him, as if he is wearing something out of his reach –but just this once, aware of how fleeting this moment is, how ephemeral, Zenyatta allows himself this.

His core stutters at that thought –that he covets Akande’s attention, that the idea of being his sole focus entices him in ways he would prefer not to analyse– but it only serves to make him feel more aware of Akande, and of himself.

Despite the intensity of his focus, Akande seems content to watch him from afar, and Zenyatta catches on to this game quickly, because he moves past the sea of people with careful grace, knowing he has an observer following his every move.

It makes him heat up, just a little bit.

Zenyatta does not flirt, but if he does, maybe, keep a far more pleasant tone than usual, if he offers a casual touch more than he normally would, aware of Akande’s eyes on him, then it is all for the sake of politeness, certainly not because he wishes to tease someone who is keeping his distance.

The night progresses quickly, as Zenyatta can focus both on his job and on keeping Akande’s eyes on him, and there is some kind of freedom in this play that he hasn’t had in a long while.

“I have heard many things about you, Mr. Tekhartha.”

He turns around, and his servos tense, just a little bit, at the sight of one of the Vishkar corporation representatives stand in front of him.

“The same cannot be said about you,” Zenyatta replies, and waits just long enough that the impolite words can begin to unnerve the man before he continues, “as I do not know your name.”

He does not mention the fact that Tekhartha is not a name but a title –the man’s ignorance on the matter is not important.

It seems like his words have startled the Vishkar envoy, as surprise flashes on his face before he relaxes and chuckles. The sound is cold to Zenyatta’s auricular receptors, and he does not need to feel out with his senses to know the man is cautious, now.

“Do forgive me, I have been told my introductions are somewhat lacking. You may call me Sanjay Korpal. I am Vishkar’s official negotiator for this charity event.”

He does not need to explain who, or what, Vishkar is –the name is famous enough not to need it, especially at such an event.

Zenyatta offers him a nod, still unsure why he has been approached. “So you are here on official matters. Forgive me, Mr Korpal, but is Vishkar interested in furthering their spiritual ties?”

Another smile, as pleasant as it is empty. “Not quite, or well… not at the present time, though Vishkar has always been interested in the views of the Shambali. We find them… inspiring, if I am allowed to say so.”

“To inspire is what the Shambali live for,” Zenyatta hums, tone carefully even. “So that many might be directed towards a happier, fulfilling life of acceptance and peace.”

“That is Vishkar’s goal as well. Acceptance of equality, so that there will be chances for all to reach high and prosper.”

Zenyatta tilts his head to the side. “Is that so? Yet, there has been much talk about the kind of equality Vishkar has offered to the people of Rio de Janeiro.”

“That was… an unfortunate misstep that a few certain unpleasant parts of our corporation were seeking on their own, without the full knowledge of the rest. They are being dealt with, and we will make sure nothing of that sort might happen again.” Sanjay remains polite and smiling, ever the good conversationalist, and Zenyatta’s forehead array burns brightly for a second.

He can detect the lie in Sanjay’s words as well as the truth, woven together so it all sounds like Sanjay wants it to –easy to swallow for the journalists and the press. A front of sheepishness, admitting part of the fault while blaming nameless, faceless people. Zenyatta knows better.

“Then that shall be my hope as well –that Vishkar might right the wrongs so easily committed against innocent people.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Yet, you approached me for something different than simple well-wishes, did you not?” Zenyatta intertwines his fingers together, giving Sanjay his full attention.

“Ah, forgive me. I have noticed you have been in the company of Mr Ogundimu, recently.” Sanjay’s expression shifts minutely to something Zenyatta cannot read. “I have… worked a few times alongside him, and found our mutual agreements on the field rather pleasant, so I was simply curious about your involvement in the situation. I wondered if perhaps you would be interested in expanding your… connections… further.”

Zenyatta allows a few seconds to pass as he parses the man’s words. It is somewhat worrisome to hear of Vishkar’s connections with Akande, though he knows little about the man, other than what he shared of himself during their conversations, but what has him stumped is why Sanjay would be so interested in the kind of connection Zenyatta is… building… with Akande.

It is possible, from an external viewpoint, that Sanjay is acting as a business associate, extending Vishkar’s own reach by interacting with someone simply because Akande has shown interest in him and despite his attire, Zenyatta _has_ established himself as a Shambali since the first night of the gala.

It is also possible that Sanjay and Vishkar have been interested in the Shambali for a while, and have never had a chance to reach out with reason before now.

If Vishkar is looking to secure connections with the Shambali, they will be sorely disappointed, since Zenyatta is not truly a member with any sort of weight to his name, nor is he intentioned to entertain ties with their organization in the name of the Shambali… nor on his own.

Not even OverWatch would benefit of this.

“I had no idea you were one of Akande’s friends,” Zenyatta replies, smoothly using Akande’s given name, “unfortunately, our conversations have not quite revolved on business matters, you see.”

“Indeed.”

Zenyatta does not react when he feels one hand on his shoulder, as he hears Akande approach despite the people talking around them.

“Was there anything you needed, Mr Korpal?”

Zenyatta watches as Sanjay’s expression seems to close off, for a single instant. It is clear by his body language that he is wary, and Zenyatta has to wonder –what does Akande have in common with Vishkar? Is it a mere business association, or something more sinister?

Sanjay relaxes after a fraction of a second, his smile returning, as fake as before. “Forgive me for intruding, but I have heard of your interest in… Mr. Tekhartha… and thought I could extend an offer as well.”

“It would appear you have overestimated our partnership, Mr Korpal –and also the kind of interest I share with Zenyatta.” The hand on his shoulder slides closer to his neck, and Zenyatta is acutely aware of the fingers rubbing against a small sensor at the base of his neck, and it reminds him of the game he has been playing with him all night.

Sanjay follows the hand before he makes a startled noise, and takes a step back. “I… see. Please forgive me for overstepping. I had… misunderstood the situation greatly.”

“I am quite certain you did.”

It is only propriety that allows Sanjay to retreat without appearing he is, in fact, running away, but Zenyatta recognizes the hurry in his steps and the tension in his shoulders, before his attention returns to the hand on his shoulder, which only moves away once Sanjay is gone from sight.

“I must add my own apology to that of my… business associate,” Akande says, and seeks out Zenyatta’s optical receptors. “He is a zealous man, but one who does not realise he has overstepped. And also for touching you without your permission.”

“I understand the kind of impression he had, and the one you wished for him to have. It is of no consequence.” Zenyatta turns around, tilts his head a little, and regards Akande. “It was not unwanted.”

He does not pry about Vishkar and their apparent connection with Akande, because as much as his curiosity burns inside him, there are many reasons one would choose to have ties with that organization, and at the end of the day, Zenyatta knows this casual flirting will end, and he will not see Akande again.

It would be too much to consider inquiring into his business associates, and it is the same reason Zenyatta has avoided considering Akande as a possible supporter for OverWatch.

You do not mix a casual, albeit interesting, flirt with work.

Yet, Akande is a proud, intelligent man –it would seem almost strange if he were uninformed about his associates’ murky past. Zenyatta feels a sliver of hesitation, barely inching on wariness, before he reminds himself to be rational.

Proud as he might be, Akande is also a businessman, and Zenyatta knows this it is no indication of what his true self might be. Yet, it is also impossible for him to truly dismiss the worry, now that it is there. Maybe he is simply overestimating Akande’s reach, maybe he is not a man of integrity as he seems to be, but…

The hand on his neck distracts him enough that he looks up, meeting Akande’s intense stare. “Is there a problem?”

“You seem tense. I would offer you my services to… relax you, if you’d like.”

“Hmmm.” Zenyatta makes a show of thinking about it, even going as far as to rub his chin with one hand. “You would need to be quite… persuasive.”

“Oh, believe me… I know how to be.”

A lick of anticipation curls inside his circuits, and Zenyatta feels one of Akande’s hand trail down his back. His fingers caress the curve of his spine above his clothes, sensor by sensor, and he hums.

They are still in public, and Zenyatta is aware of that, and it makes his circuits burst with energy.

“I guess I could… allow you to persuade me.”

Akande leans forwards, smirking, eyes dark and intense, and the hand at the base of his back tugs him closer by a mere inch. “Hmmm. Perhaps we should… relocate.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickers in an anticipating smile. “Yes.”

***

The flight back to OverWatch’s base in Gibraltar is as uneventful as it is slow, and Zenyatta spends it idly watching a movie, though his mind is not focused on it.

The week has ended, but Zenyatta finds himself satisfied. He returns with a few supporters for Overwatch –people who will back his organization with their funding, and some old ones who had, back in the day, already offered their help, and now have renewed their vows. He feels he’s done a good job, even with the distraction he’s allowed himself to have.

He accepted the job thinking it would do OverWatch good –and it did, but that is not the only thing Zenyatta managed to obtain.

The last day of the charity event, Zenyatta was in Akande’s bedroom, and much to his surprise, waking up he had Akande still asleep at his side. Invited as he was to spend the night with him there, rather than Zenyatta’s room, he had expected he would wake up alone, with enough time to leave comfortably, but…

It is, in part, why Zenyatta is unable to focus.

The night was a blur of pleasure, but waking up to see Akande’s face, relaxed and at ease… it felt intimate, and the image is buried in Zenyatta’s memory log, together with the night they shared just before, and after Akande woke up, well…

Zenyatta has enjoyed his time with Akande, even if it has come to an end.

He can’t deny there was something there, between them, that makes him leaving feel almost bittersweet, and… he does not quite wish for it to be a fleeting, ephemeral whim, after all –and in truth, Zenyatta knows he has suspected it from the first time his optical receptors have met Akande’s gaze.

It feels like the week has gone by so quickly now that it’s finished, and he feels better than he did when he left. Truly, a mission on his own was what he’d needed –that, and perhaps, someone like Akande as well.

He does, though, hope the maintenance protocols will fix him fast enough that once he leaves the plane he won’t have to limp to his teammates –else, he can already picture the kind of jokes Jesse will make at his expense until the day he dies.

Well. What was a week of fooling should not extend any further, he is well aware of that, but a man like Akande is… too fascinating to leave behind. Still, Zenyatta is also realistic, and though the interest the man had for him was real and tangible, he also has no intention to fool himself by believing he will wish to keep in contact with him any further now that the charity event has ended.

There is, indeed, a twinge of disappointment, but it is inconsequential in the end.

Akande’s memory will not easily fade, though –the man is an interesting companion, and talking with him has given Zenyatta a lot to think about, more so in the way the man seemed to subtly challenge a lot of Zenyatta’s thoughts.

Nor will Zenyatta stop remembering the way it had felt during their second night together, to have Akande ride him, squeezing so tightly around his cock that Zenyatta had felt trapped there, unable to do much else except writhe under him until he’d climaxed, shuddering and gasping, fingers wrapped in the sheets, only to have Akande turn him around and fuck him so hard he’d resetted into the mattress, his screams muffled into a pillow and Akande’s cock driving into him without mercy.

No –Zenyatta will not find it easy to forget that, either.

 

*** **Epilogue** ***

Winston waits until all the agents present at the base arrive in the main office room before he turns around to face them.

Currently, they only have three agents there, aside for Winston himself –Hana, Zenyatta and Jesse. Genji and Lena have been sent on a mission on their own, and will return at the end of the day unless they request more time to complete it. Fareeha and Angela are also gone but not on a mission –Angela needed rest, and Fareeha requested some time off to drag her off-base to spend some time together, and Winston, knowing they did not have any incoming mission, has allowed them that.

“Why did you call us here? I was streaming some games and I haven’t seen my friends in a while, I wanna go back!” Hana shifts from foot to foot, rolling down a sleeve to hide a grease stain, and Zenyatta hums, knowing she was not quite streaming games but videochatting while working on her MEKA.

“Forgive me for interrupting your free time, Hana, I just, uh, wanted to announce, now that I have everything confirmed, that we… well, we’re getting a new agent.”

This produces the reaction Winston was hoping for –Hana uncrosses her arms, surprised glee taking over her face, and Jesse lifts his hat a little bit, eyes wide. Even Zenyatta jolts in surprise, tilting his head in such a way that Winston knows he has his full attention.

“It was… yeah, a surprise. I tried to contact him a few times in the past, but…” Winston hesitates, then gives them a half-hearted shrug.

They all know about his attempts to recruit more field agents –he has sent a few mails around, careful to do a background check on some people before attempting to establish a contact. Many ignore his offers, many reject him outright. Some of his mails end up in the spam without being read, blocked by filters.

Recently the only person who managed to create enough contacts to give OverWatch some more financial aid is Zenyatta, and Winston has never been more grateful for his presence in the reborn organization.

Still, this is something _he_ managed to do –one of the people he contacted has answered back.

It’s just one, but it feels like a victory.

Shrike has yet to answer, the infamous Soldier76 is still as evasive as ever, promising to join yet always finding reasons to postpone, but this one… oh, this one, like with Hana, is a success.

“That’s great, Winston!” Hana claps her hands together. “Why didn’t you say that before?”

“Ah, well, for a while, I thought he would not answer to my mails, but… just the other day, he contacted me back, and we started to talk. So, he said he wanted to try and join us… at least for a brief period, to see if what we’re doing is what he’s seeking.” Winston straightens his back. “So, I promised he would be able to walk away if this isn’t what he wants. Just like the offer’s still up for you, Hana.”

“Pshh, as if I would! I’m having fun and doing good things. I am not leaving, you big potato.” Hana flashes him what she hopes is a reassuring smile, a bit awkward but honest, and Winston clears his throat. He knows she hasn’t fully settled yet, not as open with them as she might be otherwise, but she’s trying, and she is willing to stay, and… he is very grateful for that. She is a great addition. “Yes. So, he’s joining the team today and will stay on base for a month –he will still have his own… things… to do, but he wants to be involved in what we do first-hand. I hope you can…” Winston makes a small, aborted motion with one hand.

“You want us to give him a good greeting and show him the ropes ‘n shit,” Jesse picks up from him, an easy smile stretching on his lips. “Sure thing, boss.”

“I will be glad to show him around. After all, there is no one better to show a new recruit this area than someone who has joined not too long before he did, am I right?” Zenyatta finally speaks up. His forehead array burns brightly in excitement, as he understand that while one new agent isn’t much it’s still a great accomplishment, considering how things have been going so far.

“Yes, yes, I’m glad you understand!” Winston sounds relieved, though he wasn’t expecting anything less from his team. “I called you here because he should arrive in a few, uh, in a few minutes. We should go out and meet him at the hangar.”

“So,” Hana asks as they make their way outside, the empty corridors echoing as they walk through them, “who is it?”

“Why should I spoil the surprise?” for once, Winston feels as impish as she usually is, and smiles when she swats gently at his arm. “He’ll be here shortly. You can wait, Hana.”

“Can you at least give me a hint? Is he old? Young? What does he do in his life? Since we know the people you tried to contact were pretty well known, I want to know what to expect!”

“Well…” Winston hums as they exit outside the base, standing near the area where the ORCA jet usually parks when they need it, “he’s a little bit older than you, and… quite famous.”

“Famous? Famous how? Famous like me, D.Va, or famous like, I don’t know, this guy here?” Hana points at Jesse with a smirk, and she receives a faux offended pout back for her words.

“I’ll let you know everybody whispers my name in fear, darling,” Jesse shots back.

“Yeah, yeah, because your fashion sense is a disaster–”

“Hana!”

Zenyatta chuckles, unable to stop himself, and Hana flashes him a proud smile. “See, Zenzen gets it.”

“I am. Outraged. I have never felt as betrayed as I do now…” Jesse presses one hand on his chest, but he cannot continue because there is a soft noise coming from somewhere that all of them recognize.

It’s not OverWatch’s ORCA jet, because Genji and Lena are using that, but it’s a smaller model, seemingly new and just as fast, that approaches them fast. Their future agent is there, on that jet.

Jesse, Hana and Zenyatta straighten their backs, anticipation making them lean forwards.

“On your best behaviour,” Winston attempts to remind them, though he knows it’s unneeded. “We need to, uh, keep this one.”

Hana’s smirk widens. “Sure, sure, I will promise not to challenge him at some of my fav games then… at least not during his first week here.”

“Will not use him as target practice, boss,” Jesse assures him, tilting his hat down a little, and Winston splutters, then Jesse adds “unless he’s into it.”

Zenyatta would feel left out, as he has no ‘bad habit’, but maybe… “I can promise not to ask him to meditate with me?” and his words make Jesse, Hana and Winston all laugh, so he considers it a win.

“Who knows,” Hana tells him with a nudge, “maybe he’d like that.”

“Ooh, you never know, maybe our new teammate will enjoy that and who knows… he might be tall… and muscly… right, Zenyatta?” Jesse wiggles his eyebrows and this startles Zenyatta enough that his forehead array splutters in embarrassment.

“So that’s what he likes, huh,” Hana rubs her chin, looking as devious and scheming as Jesse is, and Zenyatta finds that this is not quite a good combination.

Thankfully, he is spared further commentary, because the jet lands, and when its doors open–

“Welcome, welcome, to uh, to Gibraltar, OverWatch base!” Winston advances towards their new recruit, attempting to look a little smaller, so not to scare him away, though Zenyatta is sure they have talked about the fact that Winston is, effectively, a giant gorilla.

“Oh man, I can’t believe I’m really here!”

L _ú_ cio moves out of the jet with the kind of gait of someone who’s sure of himself, a little skip to his pace, but Zenyatta feels the slight hesitation in his aura that betrays his worry. It must not have been an easy decision to make –throw himself into a new place, with people he’d never met, but the moment he sees who the new recruit is, Zenyatta feels… at peace.

“Thank you for letting me come! I’ll make sure to be of help, Winston!” L _ú_ cio offers Winston a thumbs up, then turns to look at the rest of his new teammates –the people he will be with for at least the first month as he gets used to the place.

Zenyatta observes him look at Jesse first –roughened up cowboy with a serape and a hat, a cigarillo tightly held between teeth– then to Hana –and there is a small flicker of recognition there, possibly because L _ú_ cio focuses on people like him, people who protect without forgetting who they are– and then he feels a coil of amusement when L _ú_ cio finally looks at him and is visibly started, eyes growing wide in surprise.

“My man, Zen!”

And there –what makes Zenyatta feel truly reassured that his message does, in fact, reach people. The aura of hesitation around L _ú_ cio melts away, surprise taking its place, then giddiness, then a kind of steady resolution, and L _ú_ cio smiles at him, wide and proud and amused.

“Welcome to the OverWatch base, L _ú_ cio,” he greets him with a small wave.

L _ú_ cio  grins, giving him a thumbs up that is far more secure than the one he offered Winston just a minute earlier. “Oh, now I know it was the right thing to do. I think I’ll be right at home here.”

“You… you know L _ú_ cio Correia Dos Santos, Zen?” Jesse leans closer to Zenyatta, surprise obvious on his face.

“Ah, yes. We have met once,” he says, giving Jesse a small pat on the shoulder. “At the charity event, two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, wasn’t looking where I was going, got Zenyatta’s clothes all dirty.” L _ú_ cio looks sheepish, but he is still smiling. “So, I’m L _ú_ cio, nice to meet you!”

It is clear what Jesse is thinking –he looks L _ú_ cio up and down, eyes moving from his wide shoulders to his casual clothes– and Zenyatta restrains the sudden urge to shake his head. It is obvious Jesse has misunderstood the situation entirely.

“Kinda short,” he hears Jesse mutter, softly enough that Zenyatta is sure L _ú_ cio did not hear. “So that’s not him. Ah, too bad.” Zenyatta has to focus quite hard not to make a startled snort at that.

Hana latches on L _ú_ cio instantly, and Zenyatta falls into step with Jesse as the four of them escort their new recruit inside to give him a tour of the area.

It is somewhat a surprise to see him join OverWatch, but if Zenyatta thinks back – L _ú_ cio wanted to be part of something actively, he wanted to make a difference. He is glad Winston attempted to reach out for him. This can be the one chance L _ú_ cio wanted.

In his pocket, his phone makes a soft ping, and Zenyatta’s pace slows down as he looks at it, core faltering when he sees the familiar name on the screen.

Akande has sent him a message.

They have been conversing a lot, in the past two weeks –a surprise for him since he’d thought that once gone, Akande would easily forget about the monk he’d wooed into his bed for two nights in a row (and an added extra morning). Instead Zenyatta had found a message from him the moment his plane had landed, and since then, they have continued to talk, on and off, about everything and nothing.

Of all people, Akande does not seem the kind of person who likes to do small talk, but it appears that as long as Zenyatta is involved, Akande will go out of his way to be as charming as he can be.

He does not know what this thing between them is –he’d thought it would be a one-night stand, but now Zenyatta is not sure of that any longer. All he knows is that Akande is intriguing, and he does not mind getting to know him better.

Though, one of the things he asked first was about his partnership with Vishkar, which appeared to be a mere act of financial convenience –it has put Zenyatta’s worries at ease, at least for now, but hopefully he will not find out anything too incriminating about Akande in the future.

_‘A boring day of work,’_ Akande has written to him.

_‘That does not mean you should spend that time writing to me,’_ he answers back, fingers fast on the phone keyboard.

_‘I am my own boss, and I will not begrudge myself such an interesting distraction’_ is what he receives back, and he shakes his head, quietly, at Akande’s words.

_‘What if I feel you need to focus elsewhere, then?’_ he types next.

A few seconds pass by, and Zenyatta looks up. Hana is tugging L _ú_ cio forwards, and Jesse turns around, finding Zenyatta on his phone, so he makes a small gesture to let Jesse know he is coming.

His phone pings again. _‘You would not,’_ Akande has sent. _‘You love being distracted as much as I do.’_

And much to Zenyatta’s amusement, he finds the statement rings true, though even that, they both know, is a challenge.

_‘Hmmmm,’_ he types back, and sends that text alone. Then, after a few seconds, he sends _‘we will need to test this theory.’_

Zenyatta hums, deep in his synth then puts his phone back in his pocket, planning to ignore Akande just for a little bit, and hurries forwards to where the others are, forehead array burning in a pleased smile.

He is quite content with the way things have progressed, and hopefully, OverWatch will weather whatever will come their way.


End file.
